


Baby Look What You've Done To Me

by Stylinspirit, teacuplarrie



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 18-Year-Old Louis, Angst, Bottom Louis, I love you guuys, Kissing, M/M, Older Harry, Rimming, age gap, just overall very loving smut, stockholm syndrome au, this is a beast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 14:17:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3939955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stylinspirit/pseuds/Stylinspirit, https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacuplarrie/pseuds/teacuplarrie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>32 year old Lawyer Harry Styles kidnaps 18 year old socialite Louis Tomlinson on accident. Romance ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby Look What You've Done To Me

**Author's Note:**

> Okay first of all I just want to say the biggest I love you and thank you to my partner in crime Haley AKA [teacuplarrie](http://teacuplarrie.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for helping me with this beast. 
> 
> As for the rest of you, this will be my last fanfic! Literally ever. I'll appreciate any kudos or comments, and I'll interact with you on here, but as most of you have figured out by now, I've deleted my tumblr. I'm expecting a baby, have a whole house to oversee the renovations of, and I'm planning a wedding! I'm super busy and I hope you guys understand. LOVE Y'ALL. - Joella
> 
> please reblog the fic post [here](http://teacuplarrie.tumblr.com/post/118985386264/teacuplarrie-baby-look-what-youve-done-to-me) :)

When Zayn had brought the idea of holding Charlotte Tomlinson as ransom to Harry, he’d automatically refused, laughing it off as ridiculous.

“You’ve got to be mad to pull off a stunt like that, Zay. That family is second only to the royals.” He’d joked, drinking a dry scotch gingerly while Zayn sipped tequila from its bottle.

Now that he was faced with three stacks of bills and backed mortgage payments out of his ass, he was seriously reconsidering.

His divorce had finalized nearly two months ago, and if the mucky aftermath of a bitter split wasn’t enough, he’d been disbarred. That’s right, honorable lawyer Harry had been disbarred for becoming way too fucking emotionally attached to a client, an old high-school friend that had pleaded and begged with him, Robert Giffords.

The problem was, Giffords just had to choose to rob a chain of superstores with a very long and strong list of lawyers to back themselves.

Harry had pulled every string he could think of. Three weeks and one hell of a court case later, he was one throng of a gavel away from getting Giffords off, and found himself on the other end of a long list of complaints over his “unconventional” methods, half of which were outright lies and very illegal.

Apparently though, it doesn’t matter if you can’t build a strong case against the defense in court, as long as you have nice fat bank account like those cats at Tesco’s. The charges were dropped due to insufficient evidence from the prosecution, but the firm still released Harry, who lost all his well-earned respect, simply because all the false accusations left him with dirt on his shoes.

So now all he has is a big house, empty save for all the lingering memories that a broken marriage tends to leave burned into the walls. He didn’t realize how long 9 years was until he couldn’t walk into a room without being reminded of her. Rose, who took everything but all the god damned space she filled up in Harry’s brain when she left. 

He sits by himself, candles burning in every room, the house smelling like lonely vanilla, because he can’t afford to flick a light switch right now. His money is dwindling, and if he wants to keep his house and his nice cars and his expensive lifestyle that he’s grown comfortable in, he’s going to have to do better than a shabby receptionist job in a dentist office

In his most desperate, “to be or not to be” moments, he’d mulled over dealing cocaine, prostitution, selling his furniture. Moments where he realized all his splurging at Ulta, and his thousand pound a thread Saint Laurent silk tops would be coming to an end.

He’d actually considered just jumping off the second story of his house, but a lone thought crossed his mind. Charlotte Tomlinson.

She comes from the second most powerful family in the UK, and the family itself comes from very old and very plentiful English money. Dan Deakin, the patriarch, struck literal gold in the ‘90’s, investing in with a very tiny French organization, Forzieri. It took off, of course, and as the family grew, so did the money.

Harry pulls his tea kettle off of the electric stove and pours himself a cuppa, mixing in sugar and milk. He doesn’t want to go to prison. Back when his trial was going on, even just the slim possibility of going had him nearly crawling out of his skin. He doesn’t want to find out what would happen if he actually went. All the drug lords and murderers he’d stashed away to rot there would probably be very glad to see him. In the absolute worst way possible. Still though, there’s also the fact that if he doesn’t make money, and fast, he’s going to be homeless, jobless and without any of his dignity. That is surely worse than prison, right?

“Zayn,” He breathes into his phone, pinching the bridge of his nose and cradling his cuppa in his other hand. He’s holding his cell phone with his ear and shoulder, eyebrows pulled together in concern as he waits for a reply. When he finally gets one, it’s groggy and grated with sleep. Harry realizes that it’s 3 in the morning, but he needs to make this decision quickly before he chickens out and changes his mind.

“That heist about the Tomlinson girl, you think it’s actually going to work?”

 

-

 

“Harry stop bloody dropping the fuckin’ rope, mate! I’ve gotta tie it ‘round here, see,” Zayn demonstrates his skills by wrapping the thick rope around the small wooden chair twice, once underneath the legs and around them thrice, pulling it tight to make a sailors knot in the middle. It makes Harry’s stomach churn, to think that in mere hours, they would be doing the same thing to an innocent grade-school girl, who hadn’t done any wrong to them.

“You saw how I did that? Once around the stomach, enough around the legs so she don’t squirm,” He yanks the end of the rope loose and the heavy material clunks to the ground.

Zayn side-eyes Harry, who hasn’t replied and has gone white and clammy. He’s wringing his hands and shifting his weight onto each foot, making himself look as though he’s surfing on concrete.

“Harry.” Zayn says sternly, gold caps glinting on each of his incisors as his lips curl into an almost mocking smile. He runs his fingers through his inky black hair, mussing it up a little to make it settle on one side. “You’re never gonna be able to do this if y’don’t calm down, right?” Zayn grabs both of Harry’s shoulders, grounding him to the spot where he’s standing.

“I can’t do this, Zayn. I can’t hurt a little girl! This is so illegal, and I feel so bad already, we haven’t even-“

Zayn makes an exasperated noise and removes his hands from Harry, reaching into his pocket to retrieve a cigarette from his pack. He puts it between his lips and continues to speak. “We ain’t gonna hurt her, yeah? The Tomlinson’s are gonna fork over the ransom without any thinkin’, and then she won’t be our problem anymore. You understand?” Zayn lights up and takes a deep drag, looking over Harry apprehensively.

“What if they don’t give up the money?” Harry blurts out, biting his bottom lip. He knows he’s being completely idiotic, because of course they would give up the money. They would obey silently, and the press would catch wind as little as possible. The Tomlinson’s, as mentioned before, are prestigious people who keep their name respected at all costs. They would give up the money.

“Well, then we kill her.” Zayn shrugs, stone-faced. He takes a puff of his fag and raises his eyebrows at Harry, who is on the verge of tears. He can’t even pick a flower off of its bush without feeling as though he’s literally killed a part of nature, how the fuck is he supposed to murder a young girl?

All of the sudden, Zayn bursts out in loud laughter, rasping as he slaps his own knee. He’s doubled over, holding his cigarette away from his leather jacket.

“You shoulda seen your face! Oh my god,” Harry begins to nervously chuckle, which turns into the both of them giggling uncontrollably, falling all over one another as they have their moment of insanity.

 When they finally gather themselves enough to wipe their tears and reduce their roaring laughter to a few manic chuckles, they load up into Zayn’s stolen British Gas van. He had taken it two years prior when he’d been employed by the company under a fake name and address.

The chunky Ford model van had been spray-painted white crudely, with graffiti monsters and cartoon characters that Zayn had dreamed up on a whim. It was kind of stupid to Harry, to go in this easily recognizable vehicle, and he told Zayn as much, who reassured him that he was getting a paint-job done as soon as they were through with the whole operation.

They ride in utter silence to their reassessing point, which they had agreed would be a little abandoned fruit stand on the edge of a less-than-traveled back road near their destination. The Tomlinson’s large estate is about 3 miles down the street. Harry can see the lawn lights twinkling in the distance from where they stand outside of the van, pulling on ski-masks and thick leather gloves.

“Make sure you tuck your hair all th’way in,” Zayn advises, pushing his black woolen sweater into the band of his trousers. He places sunglasses over the ski-mask to cover his eyes and snaps the elastic on his socks, sliding small pocket knives into each of his black vans.

Harry obeys, jittery from his scalp to the tips of his toes. He’s physically tingling, shaking with nerves. He thinks he shouldn’t be so jumpy, being 32 years old and reasonably seasoned, but he’s reverted back to his 17 year old self as of right now. He’s afraid of his own shadow at this point.

“Alright Harry, are you ready?” Zayn asks him. Harry laughs loudly when he catches sight of the other man, who looks like a cheaper version of robo-cop.

“Oi, shut up you idiot!” He hisses, clamping his glove-clad hand over Harry’s mouth.

“I’m sorry, fuck I’m- you look ridiculous.” Harry snorts out, and Zayn shoves him towards the drivers’ door, annoyed.

It’s only 3 miles, but it’s the longest drive Harry has ever taken in his entire life. He makes a point to go as he can, dragging the moment out as long as he feels necessary.

Zayn is becoming increasingly agitated with Harry, urging him to fucking come on, but Harry is having none of it.

“Buckle up!” He barks out at Zayn, all the while going under 15 miles per hour. His toe is daintily extended in his shoe, pressing the gas as lightly as humanly possible.

“You are a fuckin’ ham, Styles. I swear t’god.”

-

 

“Okay, you’re gonna wait here, I’ll go in and grab the girl as quick as I can. You have the van running for-”

“That was not the plan.” Harry cuts his eyes at Zayn, who cocks his head.

“Oh, it wasn’t? Okay, well this is a change of the plan.” Harry can almost hear Zayn smirking underneath his mask, and it’s all he can do not to pout.

“Zayn this isn’t fair. Like, it’s not fair to you. I shouldn’t get any money if I don’t help you, yeah? I should help. I can be sneaky.”

Zayn raises his sunglasses and blinks at Harry incredulously, scoffing.

“Oh, mate, you’re doing the most work here. You’re gonna keep the bird. At Bradgate manor.”

Harry looks scandalized, furrowing his brows at Zayn who must be losing his mind. Bradgate manor had been he and Rose’s vacation home. They had bought it outright, in cash, and it had lay dormant in Southampton until Harry had become more than just a bit unfaithful to Rose in the last few years of marriage, taking his many male fancies there for an overnight without her suspicion. 

“You’re mad. I’m coming in.” Harry crosses his arms and frowns.

“No, you’re not. You’re staying right here and keeping watch. Look at this,” Zayn digs into the pocket of his jeans and extracts his IPhone, unlocking it and pulling up an app. The phone had obviously been jailbroken, for the icons were little skulls and the lock bar was a slithering live-action red and black snake. Harry was about to ask Zayn how he’d done that, and to do it to his phone, when the screen was being thrust in his face. 

“This little beauty will disable the lights and security for 20 minutes. I snuck to their circuit box last week and got the serial number and passcode for the company they use for electric. I had some hookups at British Gas and Niall, you remember Niall don’t you-” Harry quickly nodded, vaguely remembering an Irish bloke with a shock of bright blonde hair and a lopsided smile. “Niall did this for me, watch.” Zayn taps his fingers against the glass of the screen for a moment before aiming the phone towards the house and pushing one last button.

Almost immediately, the lawn spotlights switch off one by one, and the absence of the buzzing sound they’d made before being shut off leaves the air deathly silent. Even the electric fountain in front of the home stops spouting its water.

“I’ve got 20 minutes, so I’m gone. You stay. Understand, Harry? You stay _right_ _here_.” Reluctantly, Harry agrees and shoos Zayn out of the open door.

“Don’t be too long, please.” He pleads before Zayn drops to the ground and begins rolling all over the plush, dewy green lawn. Harry rolls his eyes at how dramatic Zayn is being with his movements, watching as he reaches the house and scales the bricks, tucking himself against the wall as best he can. He almost wants to roll down the window and yell to Zayn that he’d just missed auditions for the black power-ranger and that he could drop the act, but he thinks better of it once he see’s Zayn actually climbing up the bricks and opening a window ever so slightly.

Harry winces and braces himself for a loud alarm to go off and for police to show up immediately, but it never happens. Zayn makes it inside unscathed, and the last Harry sees of him is his gloved hands sliding the window shut as he disappears into the sure-fire maze of a house. 

Now, to wait.

Harry switches Zayn’s crude rap cd to an easy jazz station and rests back against the seat, letting his eyes shut and mind wonder to all the things he’d be able to do once this was completely over. He’d make whatever payments that need be on the house, get a cheap car. He’d live comfortably by himself, work on getting another job within the legal system. He’d get some more bloody body wash, some jeans. Maybe those new boots he’d been eyeing at Charming Charlie’s with the cheetah printed leather patches.

Just as ‘Elegant Nights’ by Greg Karukas begins playing softly, filling the car with smooth piano notes, Harry realizes that it’s been at least 15 minutes, and that there has been no sign of Zayn.

His leg starts to shake and he turns down the radio hurriedly, leaning up towards the steering wheel with both hands clutched on it. He squints his eyes to see anything through the dark, leaning up further and further until his chest presses the horn of the van.

It goes off loudly, and Harry scrambles backwards, slapping his hands over his mouth.

“oh no, no no no.” He hisses to himself, closing his eyes. He hopes to god that nobody had heard, but he doubts it.

The sound had rung through the silence, echoing around the house at it had happened. He was getting restless at this point, praying that Zayn hadn’t been caught.

“Come on please, come on, please. Zayn you fucking-“

“HARRY YOU HAVE TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME,” Zayn throws open the side door of the van, shoves the bound and gagged girl he has in his arms in the back and locks it quickly. He jumps into the passenger’s seat and rips off his ski mask, panting heavily. He and Harry look at one another reverently for a moment, before Zayn screams.

“FUCKIN’ GO, YOU IDIOT!”

 

-

 

“I cannot believe you.” Zayn begins once they’ve made it to his flat. “You had one fucking job, and you couldn’t do that. Like, you literally,” He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs, bringing his voice down to a whisper. “It’s okay.” He says, more to himself than to Harry. He scrubs his hands over his face. “It’s okay, because we got out and they didn’t wake up. I got her, and it’s okay.”

Harry cocks his eyebrow at Zayn and reaches out to pat him on the shoulder, but Zayn flinches away.

“You take the van straight out to Southamp. Ya got enough food and clothes for two weeks, so just hang out there until y’need to leave. Don’t let her out unless she’s in your sight, right?” Zayn says, and Harry nods.

He’s got it. He’s going to keep her in the basement and load her down with as many blankets as he can fit onto the bed, he’s going to offer to braid her hair and make her tea. He’s going to make the girl feel as comfortable as he can until it’s over, so she can’t go back to her family and say she had a particularly horrible time.

Zayn puts his backpack on in the seat and opens the door, hopping down to the ground. “Don’t forget to wear your mask when you’re around her, and don’t tell her your name. Right?” He blinks up at Harry, scratching at his beard. It’s as if he doesn’t think in the slightest that Harry is going to listen to him, which. He’s probably right.

“I got it, just. I’ll text you when we get situated down there. Don’t worry about me, I won’t fuck up again!” He calls to Zayn, who is flipping him off from the doorway of his small apartment.

 

-

 

“Excuse me,” Harry hears a high pitched, raspy voice from behind him as he drives, and it almost makes him crash into an oak tree on the side of the road.

“Holy f-“ He whips his head around and sees a brown rucksack covered face from behind the metal bars that separate the front of the van from the back.

“Jesus, doll, you scared me. Hold on, alright? I’ll get that bag off you.” He assures the girl firmly, trying to alter his voice a bit. This was it. He’s kidnapped a young lady, he’s stolen her from her family and now he has to deal with the realization of it. It gives him a gutted, nasty feeling in his stomach.

“I have to piss, please.” The girl – who has very low pitched speech for a girl – says urgently.

“One second, okay? We’ll stop in the woods for you to go.” He taps his fingers against the steering wheel and peers into the darkness to look for a little road that stems off near the woods. He finally spots one a little ways off, and speeds up to get this over with.

“Oh, the woods? What an absolute treat. Where’s it to for dinner, hm? Shrek’s house?” She replies sarcastically. Her voice is muffled, due to the bag, but Harry hears her every word clearly. Despite himself, he bites back a laugh. This girl is obviously not going to be easy.

They stop on the road, and Harry climbs out of the van, unlocking the back double doors with the key Zayn had given him.

The next few seconds are a blur, but once the doors are open, he’s mauled by the girl, knocked over and onto his back. He hits the ground with an “oof,” and is disoriented for a moment before he comes to and scrambles up onto his feet.

He tries not to laugh, but it the hilarity of the situation overcomes his rationality and he bursts out into fits of giggles. Charlotte has only gotten a few inches away, due to the restraints tied around her legs. She’s hopping rather than running, and it looks ridiculously comical. Harry makes his way over to her and wraps his arms around her waist, hoisting her up easily and carrying her back to the car. She spouts off angry insults and tries to wriggle free, but to no avail.

He puts her in the passenger’s seat, anchoring her thighs down with his hands.

“Calm down,” He says, softly. He doesn’t want to frighten her, he just wants everything to go smoothly and to get her back safely.

“Take this fucking thing off my head!” She screams, banging herself against the seat. She sounds more and more… _manly_ with every word she speaks, but Harry quickly reprimands himself for even thinking such a rude thing.

“If you calm yourself, I will. I’m not going to hurt you, alright?” Harry squeezes her leg, noticing that her feet are bare. It’s absolutely freezing out, so he makes a mental note to get her some shoes immediately.

“I’m calm. Take it off.” She demands, stilling her movements.

Harry reaches his hands behind her head and unfastens the pins from the potato sack, then unties the knot that’s done tightly in the back. He has to cut a bit of the fabric out to get it completely off, but off it comes.

The first thing he notices are the piercing blue eyes, narrowed into slits, fringed with long, glistening lashes that are stuck together with angry tears. The second thing, is this girl they had taken for ransom, isn’t a girl at all. He’s a lithe, tiny, pixie-like boy with cut cheekbones and bowed lips. His caramel colored hair is sticking out in all directions on his head, and he’s glaring. He’s seen photos of Charlotte in the paper and on news channels numerous times, and this was certainly not her.

“Uh,” Harry blurts out, puzzled. “You’re not Charlotte, are you?”

“Oh, bloody fantastic. Charlotte, of fucking course. Everyone loves Lottie, don’t they? You probably don’t even know my name.” He spits out angrily, little pointed nose flaring.

He doesn’t wait for Harry to respond. “Well it’s Louis. I am _Louis_ Tomlinson, and you are possibly the _worst_ fucking criminal on the face of the planet.” 

“Hey,” Harry defends, hands on either of his hips. He stares at the boy, Louis, for a second before frowning underneath his ski mask.

He locks and shuts the passenger door, circles the van, and climbs into his own seat. He proceeds to fish Zayn’s pocket knife from the middle console, then motions for Louis to bring his hands forward.

He knows that Zayn had been smart enough to remove the lock and handle from the inside, so he was at ease as he cut through the duct tape and rope.

“Oh thank you, prince charming. Feels so good to be able to use me hands again.” Louis scoffs, yanking his hands away from Harry the second they’re free.

“Don’t get too comfortable.” The older man murmurs, reaching underneath his seat to retrieve his handcuffs. They were the only ones being sold at the time, and Harry had thought they would feel much better than cold metal cutting into someone’s skin.

“You’re joking.” Comes Louis’ raspy, Yorkshire accent from beside him. “ _Fuzzy pink handcuffs_.” His disbelieving laugh causes Harry to roll his eyes. He has the urge to argue with the boy as though he were a teenager himself, but swallows it down and clamps the cuffs onto one of Louis’ little wrists, connecting the other end to the gear shift.

“Why the fuck would you want Charlotte anyway?” Louis asks, resting his restrained hand on the armrest of his seat as Harry starts up the van and they pull away.

“We wanna make her into soup.” Harry replies, dialing Zayn’s number into his phone while he steers with his knees. He puts it to his mask covered ear and steals nervous glances over at the boy, who almost looks bored.

“ _Harry? What’s happened? Did she fucking get away-_ “

“It’s not a girl.” Is all Harry can say. This whole situation is so fucked up, he just knew it wasn’t going to work. They were going to get caught and go to prison and there is nothing Harry can do now. He should have just sold his house and kept his office job like a normal person.

“ _What the fuck do you mean_?”

“It’s not Charlotte. His name is,” Harry covers the phone receiver and whispers “What’s your name again?” To the boy, who throws his free hand up in exasperation and rolls his eyes.

“King Henry.”

“Louis! His name is Louis.” Harry remembers, uncovering the phone.

“ _This is all your bloody fault_.”  

“You’re the one who grabbed him, how the fuck is it my fault?” Harry says indignantly, feeling impossibly hot underneath his getup. He takes a right turn on the road, heading towards Brentford.

“ _You and that fucking horn, grabbed the first person I saw. Whatever, fuck it, he’s a_ _Tomlinson_ , _right_?”

“Yeah, he is. I told you this was a bad bloody idea, we never should have-“

 _“Take him to the house. It’s the same plan as before, you understand? I’ve gotten the water and lights turned on at Bradgate, so you won’t have to use candles like you’re used to_.” Zayn laughs, and Harry could honestly slap him.

 

-

 

Harry doesn’t think he’s going to make it with this boy around.

“It’s fucking stuffy in here, turn on the air.”

“This van smells like straight shit.”

“You have the worst taste in music, what century are we in right now, the 18th?”

Harry admits, he loves children. He’s always wanted them, even at a young age. When he was a lad, he would play with baby dolls instead of action figures, would play house by himself opposed to army fighter with his friends.

Although, he’s never really thought of how children _grow up_. They grow to annoying, bratty teenagers like the one sitting opposite him right now. Why couldn’t this kid just be scared, like any other human being would be in this type of situation?

“Why do you have a dildo receipt in your wallet?”

“ _Oi_! Where’d you get that-“ Harry reaches his hand out to grab his black leather wallet out of the boys’ clutches, but it’s snatched away before he can get to it. “Fucking give it to me! I’ll hurt you. I know- I know karate, okay? Give me my wallet.”

Harry tries to keep his eyes on the road, but he keeps swerving over due to their little game of tug-of-war.

Louis looks smug, pulling out the 5£ note that Harry was saving, waving it around. He also finds his License, looking over it carefully.

“You have a lot of hair,” He notes “You’re… no way you’re 32. This is a fake one, right? Right,” He peers at the name on the card and snorts. “Harry Styles.”

“Give me. My fucking wallet.” Harry seethes through his teeth, becoming more agitated with every second passing.

“Let me. Out of this fucking van.” Louis mocks, deepening his voice to try and mimic Harry’s.

“Obviously I can’t do that.” Harry says.

“If you get me food, I’ll give you your wallet. I also have to pee.”

“Yeah, let me see,” Harry puts his finger on his chin, pretending to think. “No.”

“The last time you asked to use the loo, you turned into the human Easter bunny and tried to hop away. I’ll get you food, though, what’re you hungry for?”

“Mr. Cod’s, please. Fish and chips with cheese and chili, no sauce. A water to drink.”

“The closest Mr. Cod’s is all the way in Crowthorne.” Harry peels off his ski mask and sunglasses, cranking up the air before he has a heat attack in his woolen attire. The kid has already seen his picture, so fuck it.

“Mr. Cod’s or your wallet swims.” Louis cranks the manual window down and dangles Harry’s wallet out of it, flashing his tiny white teeth in an evil sneer.

If he weren’t so nasty and rude, Harry thinks, Louis would actually be very attractive. He has a curvy, feminine figure and tiny hands. He’s got this golden, shimmery tint to his skin and his voice is almost melodic.

“We’ll go to Mr. Cod’s. Christ. Roll that window up, please. It’s freezing out there.” Louis obeys reluctantly, setting Harry’s belongings on the middle console.

“You never answered my question.” Louis says suddenly, lifting himself up in the seat to fold his legs under his bum Indian-style. He scratches at his thigh, and Harry realizes at a glance that he’s wearing skintight yoga pants _. Yoga pants_.

“What question.” His mouth goes cotton-ball dry. Louis can’t be older than 16, easily branding Harry as a pedophile for even _thinking_ of looking. Then again, anyone would be able to appreciate good legs in an expensive pair of trousers.

“Why’d you have a dildo receipt in there?” He smirks again, knowingly, and Harry wishes that he actually did know karate.

“It’s a friends.” He says simply, removing his gloves and putting his scorching hands in front of the air blasting out of the vent.

“I think it’s yours.” Louis laughs, propping his head up on his hand and closing his eyes.

“I think you need to stay in a child’s place.” Harry says, shaking his hair free from the elastic he’s had it tied up with.

“Excuse me? A child? I am an adult, thank you very much.” His voice breaks on the last word, and that makes Harry chuckle. An adult indeed.

“Sure you are, love.” 

“ _I’m 18 years old_!” He shrieks, pounding his little fist on the armrest. 18, okay, that makes Harry feel a hell of a lot better about the entire situation. Louis is still a child, sure, but at least he’s legal. It’s hard to believe though, because he’s so very small. Everything about him screams “I’m just a lil wee!”

“At least I’m not an old, decrepit man like you.” Louis ‘hmmpfs’, and that stings just a bit. Harry is sensitive about his age, because even though he’s had a promising career, has done alright for himself financially and has been married, he doesn’t feel as though he’s actually lived. He’s scared of being old, and likes to pretend that he’s not.

Louis seems to sense Harry’s negative shift in mood, and smiles slightly.

This was going to be a long experience.

 

-

 

“Have you quite finished?” Louis frowns at Harry, who is eating a chicken sandwich and chips skillfully while driving.

“I haven’t, actually.” Harry says through a mouthful, flitting his eyes over. Louis screams at him to keep his eyes on the road.

“Eating is the equivalent to texting when driving.” He explains, smacking Harry’s hand away from the Mr. Cod’s paper bag and snatching it from him.

“I’m so sorry, your majesty, but I can’t seem to stop to eat anywhere because you think it’s a good idea to jump out of the window while handcuffed.”

They haven’t even gotten to the house yet, and already this kid has taken Harry around the ringer and back. They’ve stopped three times, once for Louis to actually pee, where he’d tried to wiggle his way through the small window in the loo at the gas station, once for Harry to pee, where Louis had tried to break the gear shift to get out of the handcuffs, and once at a Taco Bell to get Louis a mountain dew, which he had poured all over Harry’s lap.

“You’re going to kill us both.” Mumbles Louis, shoving a fistful of fries into his mouth. He chews loudly, smacking his food, and it makes Harry wince.

“Where are we even going? This is the way to Bournemouth. Are you taking me on a beach date?” He laughs. “Can I check my Facebook on your phone?” He adds as an afterthought, and Harry is in the process of saying “Yeah, sure.” When he realizes what he’s doing. This was it.

Harry brings the van to a skidding halt, pulling over to the side of the road. Louis jumps and yelps, scolding him all the way. Once they’ve stopped, Harry turns to Louis solemnly.

He clears his throat, and Louis opens his mouth to speak, but Harry has other plans. “I am not going to hurt you!” He yells as loud as he can over whatever Louis says, making him visibly shrink into himself. For the first time since Harry has met him, Louis looks afraid. “But my friend, Zayn? The one took you from your house? He will hurt you. Whatever I tell him to do, he’ll do. You can either cooperate the easy way, or the hard way. Do you understand me?” Harry knows that half of what he’s just said is a lie, they’re not going to hurt Louis, but he doesn’t need to know that.

Harry decides to go a step further, emphasizing his point by leaning forward and grabbing both of Louis’ cheeks into one hand, squishing them together and bringing his face close. “ _Do you understand me_.”

Tears well up in Louis’ eyes and spill over, but his jaw is set and he refuses to respond. He’s staring at Harry, not breaking his gaze for even a second. It’s as though his pride is too jaded to move an inch. They stay like that for a moment longer, and Harry begins to feel more than a little remorse for scaring the boy. He wants to hug him, honestly. He wants to rock him back and forth and tell him that nothing bad is going to happen, but that would obviously be out of line.

Harry shoves Louis’ face away roughly and adjusts himself back into his seat, starting the van up and running his fingers through his hair. He would apologize later, but for now he just wants Louis to shut the fuck up. Which he does.

The hour of driving they have left is pleasantly silent, save for some teeny pop music Louis had put on playing over the radio. It’s mostly garbage, but some of the songs, Harry finds himself learning the words too quickly and humming along.

They pass through the greenery of Kings Worthy, pass a few quaint looking cottages that Harry wouldn’t mind living in himself. Maybe he would sell the house, after all. Maybe he’d live in a little cottage like that, perhaps a window-filled flat in uptown London. Maybe he’d start completely anew. There was that young dentist, Liam, from the office where Harry worked, who had been making passes at him ever since he started working there. Maybe he’d take Liam up on his offer of a dinner date, and _maybe_ they’d hit it off. Perhaps they’d get married in Hawaii and take a honeymoon cruise to Jamaica… “ _Harry_.” He’d moan while they made love,

“ _Harry_!” Yes, he’d be a screamer.

“HARRY!” Harry snaps awake with a yell and Louis is reaching over him, hand on the steering wheel. He jerks it just in time to avoid hitting a mailbox. Harry steadies his hands on the wheel and swats Louis’ away.

“My god.” He says, clutching his chest theatrically, laughing without humor.

“Nothing funny, is there! I told you you’d kill us!” Louis is screaming, tears streaming down his face in what Harry presumes is anger. His tear ducts must be wired to his rage, Harry thinks. Some people are like that. His little chest is rising and falling sporadically, eyes wide and accusing.

“Alright, chill out.” Harry mumbles and pats his thigh. For some reason, his hand lingers a bit longer than he’d originally meant it to. It’s kind of nice, though, because Louis’ leg is rather warm and Harry’s hand is kind of cold now, due to the fact that he’d forgotten to switch off the air after he’d cooled off. It turns into more of a rub than a pat after a second, and if the material of those trousers aren’t the nicest feeling thing that Harry has ever touched, he doesn’t know what is. It’s silky, and the firm, warm skin of Louis’ thigh underneath might have helped it out a little.

A few moments go by, and Harry eases his hand away after Louis has calmed down a bit, focusing on the road in front of him. He steals a quick look of the boy in his peripherals, and is relieved to see that he’s no longer hyperventilating, or crying, but rather picking at his nail and worrying his bottom lip with his teeth.

 

-

 

“Home sweet home.” Harry announces once they’ve finally pulled up to the secluded summer house that he’s has become ever so acquainted with. He has made this exact same trip many times. Jack, Nick, Josh. There are so many men that he’s taken to Bradgate Manor in order go undetected by his wife. He’s wronged her so many times here.

Louis is halfway asleep, but he still manages to come back with something witty.

“It looks fuckin’ shabby.” He says under his breath, and Harry can’t disagree. The lawn has been unkempt for a few years, and the greenery that grows up the walls has become a little too thick. The red brick can barely be seen through the vines and leaves. It even grows into the chimney, and Harry just knows that there’ll be a lovely string of overgrown plants waiting for him inside.

He unpacks the food first, cans of soup and vegetables, crackers and bread, sealed military meals. When he opens up the front door and walks inside, it’s not as bad as he originally expects. All the furniture is covered with plastic wrap and thin white sheets, but it looks just as it had when he’d last come here with his latest flame, Mika.

Harry sets the crates of food on the marble countertops of the bar and makes his way back outside, toting in the many cases of water and extra blankets. He makes it down to the last set of bags in the back of the van, frowning at them. He doesn’t know exactly what’s in them, so he makes a little hole in the side with his finger and peers at the contents. Once he catches sight, he goes scarlet. Zayn has bought a bagful of Victoria’s Secret underwear. They’re not thongs, or anything racy, but the thought of Louis in them is enough to make him choke on his own spit.

He takes the blankets and clothes down to the basement, turning on the lights as he goes. They had turned it into a sort of third bedroom, so a giant California king sits in the middle, fluffy white down comforter spread over it. The room has a sort of a modern retro look to it, everything in the room is either white or circular. There isn’t a tellie, Harry notices, but there is a wall phone hanging up right beside his head. He unplugs it out of the wall and searches the room for any left behind cellular devices, IPads, the like. His search comes up empty, and he’s satisfied, so he tramples back up the stairs and outside.

Louis is still in the van, head laying against the window with his eyes closed. He looks rather sweet like this, Harry thinks. His eyelashes are fanned out daintily across his cheeks, casting a shadow beneath his eyes. His lips are parted slightly, and he’s not snoring, but rather whistling a bit each time he breathes in. It’s kind of… endearing.

“Louis.” He whispers once he’s opened the door, shaking the boys’ shoulder to wake him. Apparently, Louis is the heaviest sleeper on the face of the earth, because no matter how hard Harry shakes him, he doesn’t stir.

“Ah, fuck it.” He grumbles, reaching up and across Louis’ lap to unbuckle his seatbelt. He grabs the key to the handcuffs out of his pocket and unlocks them quickly.

The boy is unsurprisingly light, and Harry carries him into the house easily, like an oversized toddler. Louis’ head is resting in the crook of Harrys’ neck, legs loosely draped around his waist as he sleeps. It’s harder to get down the stairs that lead to the basement with a teenager wrapped around you, but Harry manages alright, pulling back the covers before laying Louis down and tucking him back in snugly.

“Don’t worry.” Harry reassures the sleeping form before turning off the light to the room.

“You’ll be alright.” He whispers, resting his forehead against the cool wood on the other side of the door. He locks it as quietly as he can, then ambles back upstairs.

 

-

 

Harry finally gets to bed at around 7 am, after moving all necessary things into the house and situating them. Before his head even hits the pillow, though, the alarm on his phone begins to go off.

‘Make breakfast for Charlotte :)’ it says, and Harry lets out a tired chuckle. He gets up, clad only in his boxers, and goes into the kitchen. He would make Louis a nice little breakfast, apologize for being a prick yesterday, and maybe they would be able to get along. Maybe, in some weird little way, they could become friends, and Louis wouldn’t hate it so much here.

Harry pulls out a carton of eggs and some butter, retrieving a pack of flour tortillas from the cabinets. He cracks each egg and whisks them together with salt and pepper, reveling in the little crackling sound the mixture makes once he pours it into the hot pan.

He butters the tortillas and browns them a bit in another pan, adding on cheese, diced onions and mushrooms. Harry squirts a little bit of salsa onto the plate in the shape of a smiley face, then dresses the tiny breakfast burritos with a note in the middle that reads his favorite joke.

‘What did the bacteria say to the mushroom?’ He writes on one side.

‘You’re a fungi.’

Even as he writes it, it makes him laugh.

 

“Hey, Louis? You awake?” Harry opens the basement door a little, having dressed himself in his robe. He’s barely clinging onto reality right now, and if he doesn’t sleep soon, he’s going to have a fit.

“Have you ever heard of knocking?” Comes the snide voice that Harry has grown accustomed to hearing over the last eight hours.

“I brought you breakfast.” Harry shoves the plate through the crack in the door to show that he is unarmed, and he’s waved through.

“Yes, please.”

Louis is in the middle of the bed, and he looks even smaller than he actually is. The blanket is draped over his head and lap, and he’s holding it in place to where only his face is peeking through. It’s fucking adorable.

“Here you go. Slide the plate under the door when you’re done, alright? And here’s your juice.” Harry sets the feast on the nightstand, and lingers there for a few moments, as if he expects Louis to thank him. It’s a stupid thought, for your hostage to thank you for breakfast, but Harry thinks that this entire thing is stupid.

 

-

 

The first few days go on as normal as they possibly can. Harry wakes up, cooks him and Louis breakfast, and totes it down the basement stairs. Every morning, he’ll ask Louis if he needs the loo, and every morning Louis says yes, along with a witty little string of insults and snappy comments. Louis doesn’t give much of a fight each day, but it’s clear to Harry that the boy refuses to give up his pride. Harry doesn’t really blame him.

After using the loo, Harry escorts Louis back down the stairs and through the door, locking it behind him. Mere hours later, he makes lunch, and they repeat the same process.

This particular morning, though, Louis makes an odd request once he’s been led to the loo.

“Can I shut the door?” He says it as more of a statement than a question, and Harry looks at him quizzically.

“Why?” He asks, leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed.

“Why do you fucking think? I’ve got to have a shit. D’you want to watch that too?” Louis sneers, his top lip curling into an expression of disgust. Harry feels kind of awful. Louis has no applicable amount of privacy except for in the basement, when he’s locked away.

He mulls it over, and ultimately decides that since there are no windows in the bathroom, he’ll allow it. “Sure,” He says. “You’ve got three minutes, okay?”

“Three minutes.” Louis repeats almost dreamily, as though he’s in utter disbelief. He swings the door open and slams it shut behind him, leaving Harry on the other side.

“You didn’t have to be so rough with it!” Harry yells, slumping against the opposite wall.

He hears the usual sounds of unzipping, and then a loud splash.

“Hey!” Harry yells, hand darting out for the doorknob. Locked, of course. The toilet flushes, and Louis yelps from inside.

“Open the damned door, Louis!” He bangs on the wooden doorframe twice with the flat of his palm.

“Piss off!” Louis screams at the top of his lungs. Another flush.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Fucking your mum. Leave me alone!”

“Hey, leave my mum out of this, she’s a saint,” Harry begins, and then he catches up with the situation. Was Louis trying to… no. He couldn’t be.

“Are you trying to flush yourself down the fucking toilet?” He closes his eyes in defeat and smiles despite himself. This kid was a piece of work.

“What? No,” The loo flushes again. “Yes.” Louis says after a moment, and Harry barks out a laugh.

“Lean over and unlock the door. I’ll help you out.” The lock clicks softly from inside, and he takes that as an initiative to go on in.

When he pushes the door open, he’s faced with the sight on Louis, truly on his knees inside the toilet.

It looks absolutely fucking ridiculous, and Harry presses his lips together in a thin line to keep from laughing. It looks painful, quite a tight fit. Louis’ heels crammed up against his bum, his bare feet sticking out over the seat, and the cuffs around his ankles look like they might digging in from the way his body is all contorted.

“Uh,” Harry tries to hold it together, he really does, but he loses his entire resolve, laughing so hard he might have grown two new abs.

“Are you fucking done,” Louis deadpans after Harry’s been laughing for at least 5 minutes.

Harry wipes at the corner of his eye with his pinky, “I’m sorry, that was—you’re literally in the—okay,” he gives one last snort before trying to be serious, “That was rude of me. Are you alright?”

“Let’s see, besides the fact that my knee is halfway to the ocean, I’m fucking brilliant,” Louis huffs, dripping with sarcasm.

Harry snickers, in no rush to fish Louis out. He doesn’t really understand the thought process here. Sure, Louis’ tiny, for any age, but did he really think he’d just go down smoothly without even clogging the pipes? Surely not.

“Oh my god can you hurry it up?” Louis snaps, very lippy for someone in his current state, “This isn’t exactly comfortable.”

“And whose fault is that?” Harry teases even as he goes over to Louis to get him unstuck.

“It’s yours for bringing me here in the first fucking place,” Louis bites out, crossing his arms petulantly.

“Of course it is,” Harry gives in, knowing this kid has like an inch of concrete under his skin and there’s no use in arguing with him.

He goes behind Louis, slotting his hands under the boy’s armpits and lifting him straight up. He tries not to think about how easily he lifts him, and how Louis let’s himself be carried and gingerly placed on the tiled floor. Harry does not think about it.

Instead, he focuses throwing down a towel and mopping up the water that’s gathered in a puddle at Louis’ feet. Louis, who’s standing there with his eyes drilling holes into Harry’s back, making no move to clean up the mess he made.

“Why have you done this, Louis?” Harry asks sharply, more than a bit frustrated, “Did you really think you could just, flush yourself away? Literally.”

“I know that, I’m not some dumb kid,” Louis sighs deeply, “Surely my parents have paid you off by now. Why can’t I just leave?”

Harry feels a slight ting at how exasperated Louis sounds. He didn’t think it had been that bad. Definitely not bad enough to risk all the bacteria and communicable diseases of toilet water. “No,” he shakes his head, “I haven’t sent the ransom yet.”

“You haven’t—oh fucking Christ,” Louis throws his head back and looks at the ceiling, groaning, “I could have bloody kidnapped myself and have done a better job than you.”

“Yes I know,” Harry smiles through gritted teeth, “You’ve only said it a hundred times.”

“Is it too late for you just let me go? I will personally give you Charlotte, and we can pretend like this little mishap never happened,” he gestures like a phony politician and Harry thinks he could be trusted about as much as one. Not going to happen.

“You’d kidnap your own sister?” he asks, just for kicks.

“Anything to get away from the stupid likes of you,” Louis sneers, crossing his arms indignantly.

“Harsh,” Harry chuckles.

“Do you want to know what’s harsh?” Louis leans forward and Harry just knows he’s about to get sassed into a different dimension, “I’ve been here 3 days, and you’ve yet to let me shower. I’m standing here drenched in water from the toilet, and you still haven’t offered. Prick.”

Louis’ right. Harry had been so focused on watching him and making sure he ate and his bladder was comfortable that he’d forgotten about all that other hygiene stuff.

“Yes, right, of course, I ehm,” Harry clears his throat, “Do you want to have a shower now, or uh, later before bed?”

Louis looks down at his wet knees with disgust, and then looks at Harry the same way, “Now please and thank you asshole.”

“You’re welcome,” Harry says back much to Louis’ disdain, “I don’t want you in here by yourself, though.”

“What?” Louis snaps, outraged like he hadn’t literally just tried to escape to the sewers of all places, “And why the hell not?”

“Do you remember when you tried flushing yourself down the toilet?”

“Oh fuck right off.”

“Sorry little guy,” Harry says less than apologetically and he’s met with seething blue eyes and clenched teeth, “I can’t trust you alone in here. Door stays open, and leave the curtain cracked, please.”

“What? No!” Louis nearly shouts, “I’ll fucking freeze!”

“I’ll turn the heat lamp on for you,” Harry offers, but that’s as far as he’s budging. “Sorry, love. Either you leave it open, or I get in. Which will it be?”

Louis looks at Harry with a mixture of disbelief and revolt, and maybe a little bit of hatred, but he groans and gives in, “Fine, I’ll leave it open. But you’ve got to go. Perv.”

“Okay, I’m leaving,” Harry holds his hands up in mock surrender, “I’ve got to watch you though, make sure you don’t try and get away from me.” He feels the need to explain. Louis probably already thinks he’s some low class creep, he wants to try and redeem himself where he can.

“And why on earth would I do that?” Louis asks, putting a big show of sarcasm as Harry kneels in front of him to unlock his ankle cuffs.

Harry narrows his eyes up at Louis, “Because you’re naughty.”

He didn’t mean it like _that_ , and if he’s being honest, he doesn’t even know where that came from. Still, he sees that suggestive look flash across Louis’ face, and it has his cheeks heating up with embarrassment. Perhaps something else entirely.

He clears his throat, letting the red marks of raised skin around Louis’ defined little ankles distract him. Absentmindedly thinking of a way to keep that from happening again.

“How long have I got this time?” Louis asks, as if there was even a chance that he’d listen anyway.

Still though, Harry feels a bit guilty. It’s his fault Louis’ been without a shower for so long in the first place. He thinks it might be a bit cruel to deprive him of it even more with a time limit.

“However long you need,” he says decidedly, and then stands on his feet to leave, but on a second thought, turns back around.

 “I won’t though. I won’t look at you, ehm,” he’s bumbling, and he knows that probably means he should stop talking immediately, but he feels like he has to say this one thing, make sure that Louis knows, “I won’t look at you like that, Louis. Not unless—if you like.. wanted, and me, and we, uh—”

“Harry can you please get out?”

“Yes, okay, I’m just—I eh,” Harry stutters, his mouth doing that thing again where it won’t just shut up, so he curtly turns and leaves.

He’s glad that Louis doesn’t acknowledge the fact he’s just gone across the hall and sat on the edge of his bed, clearly visible from the bathroom. It makes him feel like he’s not actually a terrible creep.

He gives Louis enough respect not to watch him undress, the only reason he’s even doing this at all is to make sure Louis isn’t scheming or making a break for it. Not for his own sick enjoyment.

He waits until he hears the shower running for a safe amount of time, long enough for Louis to actually get inside, before he checks in.

He’s honestly surprised that Louis even left the curtain cracked like he asked. Louis doesn’t do what he’s told often. It seems the boy does actually know how to mind when he’s pressed just the right way. Harry should look into that.

Right now though, he’s a bit distracted. He can see Louis where he’s got the curtain open, which he’d expected to, but it’s a lot more of Louis than he needed to see. Too much for him to ever _unsee_.

A little slither of Louis’ back half where he’s turned away from the showerhead. That’s it. And yet, Harry’s lost all his breath somewhere in his throat, and he physically cannot look away.

The water’s streaming down over Louis’ body, which looks even tinier and more delicate the way he’s standing there with his head drooping forward slightly.

Louis’ skin is tan and pulled taught over the curvy lines of his body. His face is all angles and sharp points, but looking at his body, Harry can only see soft and smooth, and so, _so_ beautiful.

He lets his eyes trail downward, following the slope that every water droplet can’t seem to resist, and indulges in the way Louis’ spine dips before the graceful swell of his bum, which sits high and perky. Honestly, no matter how good Louis looks in yoga pants, nothing could give do that good of a bum justice.

It’s definitely the nicest looking one Harry has ever seen, so round and smooth looking. The longer Harry looks, the more prickly heat starts building up at the pit of his stomach, and he can’t bring himself to look away.

He wants to bury his face in it.

“I can see you.”

Harry jumps out of his skin when he hears Louis’ voice. It’s not high pitched and nasally as normal, though, it’s… low. Sultry. Almost Alluring, if Harry didn’t know any better.

When he glances into the reflective glass, his eyes catch with Louis’, who’s looking with hooded eyelids over his shoulder. The boy makes no motion to move out of Harry’s sight, which he could if he wanted. He looks like he’s about to break into a coy smile, but Harry will never know, because he turns away then, and it’s probably for the best because Harry’s actually this close to bursting into flames.

Louis doesn’t seem to care that he’s caught Harry looking at him, in fact, he seems to be amused. He squirts some body wash into his hands and begins rubbing it into the slick, tanned skin of his stomach, slowly. Still though, Harry’s so embarrassed, and he only watches the way Louis’ muscles shift under his skin for a minute or so before he forces himself to look away.

He’s 32 years old, regardless of what his subconscious would like to think, or what his subconscious would like to think _Louis_ thinks. He shouldn’t be… Louis is a _teenager_. It doesn’t matter what he may or may not want, Harry should know better.

He does, but in that moment, he didn’t care, and he doesn’t know what to think about that.

All he knows, is that sitting there watching Louis shower isn’t going to help him figure it out.

So he gets up, grumbling something along the lines of “This, you can do yourself.” when he passes the bathroom.

He settles himself on the couch, listening to the sound of the shower running, and trying not to think of the naked little boy just a few feet away.

 

-

 

Harry is rather concerned. Louis has been acting strangely all day, not his usual self. He followed Harry silently to breakfast, ate without complaint. He did the same during lunch, and declined having to use the loo.  Now that it’s dinnertime, Harry is determined to get an answer out of him.

“Louis?” He raps his knuckles on the basement door lightly, and hears a light sniffling coming from the room inside. He unlocks the door and cracks it just a bit, peeking his head through before barging in.

The lights are off, save for the illuminating red glow of the alarm clock on the nightstand. Louis is curled into a ball on the bed, and from what Harry can tell, he’s crying.

“You alright?” Harry asks, even though he knows Louis’ nowhere alright. No, he’s been kidnapped. He’s not alright. He’s been away from his family for more than a week, and you’re the reason, you fucking idiot.

“What the fuck do you care!” Louis sobs.

It stings, and Harry inwardly flinches. He supposes he deserved that, considering that _he’s_ been what’s wrong with Louis since the day he came into the boy’s life. Regardless of how he may try to sugar coat it, it always boils down to the same bitter center. He kidnapped Louis, and he’s keeping him here _against_ his will.  Still hurts to think of himself like that, though.

“Just tell me what’s bothering you, love,” Harry says gently, keeping his voice just sympathetic enough. He doesn’t want to let on how sorry he’s feeling for himself. Louis doesn’t need or want to hear that.

The look on Louis’ face when picks his head up from the sheets makes Harry think he didn’t do a very good job. It seems as if Louis’ questioning whether or not Harry’s really as concerned as he’s letting on. 

Harry just stands there under the scrutiny, trying to keep his face as neutral as possible. It’s something he should be good at, considering he was a _lawyer_ for a living and a good one at that. But he just knows he’s failing miserably right now, and his brave face is easily transparent. That’s what Louis does to him.

Apparently though, it’s enough.

Louis buries his face in the pillows, “I want to go home,” he chokes out, “Just let me _go_. I miss my stupid mum and my sisters even though they’re right brats sometimes.”

He’s talking out of his head, and Harry catches himself smiling sadly.

“Yeah? Tell me about them,” he tries. He considers it for a moment before going and sitting on the edge of the bed.

Louis’ head shoots up when the mattress dips beside him, and Harry makes to get off, not wanting to crowd Louis any more than he already has. But Louis scoots closer, so little that it’s almost imperceptible, but Harry notices, and he gets the message, Louis wants him there.

He doesn’t try to hide this time as Louis assesses him, he doesn’t think he could even if he wanted to. Louis can probably see directly into Harry and right through him too and Harry doesn’t even care. He just needs to know that Louis is okay, that he’s going to be okay.

He watches as Louis’ face shifts too quickly for him to be able to pick out any expressions, and finally settles on the most heart wrenching little frown that Harry’s ever seen. And before he knows it, Louis’ climbing over to him and locking his small arms around Harry’s neck, sobbing uncontrollably.

“They hate me,” he cries pathetically, hiccupping, “They hate me.”

Harry is caught by surprise but he reacts quickly. He locks one arm securely around Louis’ waist and the other laces through his hair, cradling Louis’ head to his chest like a small child. Louis is so tiny that it feels natural for Harry to rock them back and forth, both of them situated comfortably on the bed. He doesn’t want to push it, he’s already pushed _so much_ , but he just wants to help.

Louis’ little frame is shaking against him he’s crying so hard, and it takes everything Harry’s got not to just fall apart with him. He doesn’t though, he holds it together.

None of this would be happening right now if it weren’t for Harry stealing Louis away from his family and his life and everything the boy loved and cared about. Louis would have nothing to cry over, his life would still be perfect if Harry hadn’t come in and torn it all to pieces.

It doesn’t matter what Harry’s reasons were. That he was at his wits end, literally sitting alone in the dark amid the ruins of what used to be his life. He can’t justify what he’s done to Louis. He doesn’t deserve to cry.

So he just holds Louis, and rubs his back, and lets the boy cry into his chest like it might actually make it better. He pretends for a moment that he can fix it.

After a while, Louis’ just softly whimpering, hot tears lazily rolling down his cheeks. Harry doesn’t know what Louis meant by “they hate me”, and he doesn’t know what to say.

“How’s this,” Harry begins softly, fingers scratching lightly at Louis’ scalp where they’re laced through his baby soft hair, “After dinner, I’ll let you out of here for a bit. We can watch a film or play checkers or something. It might be easier not being crammed up in this hole all day, yeah? Just… you have to promise not to try and run, okay?” He wishes he didn’t have to add that last part, because Louis is probably sick and tired of hearing things like that.

Harry doesn’t expect him to cooperate, he mostly expects a snide remark and then for Louis to tell him off like he deserves, but instead, all he gets is a meek “Okay.” 

 

-

 

After they eat, Harry lets Louis pick out a film from the filled DVD cabinet, and they settle down to watch. They’re on the same couch, but Louis is on the opposite end, little face forlorn as rests his head on the armrest and watches the romantic comedy onscreen.

Harry is pretending to watch as well, but all he can concentrate on, is Louis. He seems so very upset, and it’s sort of hard not to feel sorry for him when he’s miserable like this. Harry spends the remainder of the film sparing worried glances to the boy, and wishing that he could fix all this, but feeling like all he ever does is make it worse.

 

-

 

Harry awakens to a runny nose and stiff elbow joints. The first thing he notices when he peels the comforter back from himself, is that it is absolutely _freezing_ in his room. He hisses and covers back up, sitting upright in bed.

It’s still pitch black outside his window, and a peek at the clock on his phone tells him that it’s only 12:34 AM. He groans and swings his feet onto the floor, hoisting himself up. His back isn’t what it used to be, and it protests avidly as he cracks it.

Harry keeps his blanket wrapped about himself as he waddles down the hall to turn up the heat, only to realize when he’s gotten to the thermostat that it’s completely shot. The screen reads 0000, and it’s blinking on and off frantically. ‘Great’ he thinks.

His teeth are chattering as he shuffles back into his room and grabs an extra duvet from the airing cupboard on the landing near the stairs. His plan is to take it to Louis, who absolutely _must_ be cold, being in the basement with concrete floors and all.

He would fix the heater in the morning, he guesses.

Suddenly, he’s jolted out of his half-asleep haze by a loud, high pitched scream from the basement. He jumps out of his skin, then drops the blankets both around him and in his hand onto the floor, grabbing the basement door key from his nightstand and bolting downstairs.

He throws the door open, only to hear another blood-curdling scream. Louis is standing in the middle of the bed, sheet wrapped around himself like a shawl, wielding the white stand lamp that usually rests beside the bed like a light saber.  It’s extended towards the ceiling, and his eyes are wide open in fear.

“Don’t come in here!” He yells to Harry. “There was a fucking spider the size of my head on the ceiling. Where do you keep your firearms, we are going to need a,” He thrusts the business end of the lamp towards the roof in a sudden yelp of fear. “We’re going to need a silver bullet for this bloody _thing_.” 

 Harry barks out a laugh, covering his eyes with his hand in exasperation.

“Fuck off,” Louis cuts his eyes at Harry. “What are you doing down here anyway?” He sets the lamp down beside him and looks around warily, assumedly for the spider.

“I was uh, bringing you blankets.” Harry explains, gesturing behind him to the hallway with his thumb.

“Good, I’m freezing me balls off in here. What happened to the heat?” Louis is standing basically on his tiptoes on the bed still, and Harry tries not to laugh again.

“It’s acting up.” He coughs awkwardly, shifting his weight to one foot. He’s clad in only a loose sleeveless tank top and boxer-briefs, because he’s used to sleeping naked at home, and this is the closest he can get. Louis eyes him up and down a bit, then raises his eyebrows.

“Sick ink.” He tilts his head to get a look at the intricate ship tattooed on Harry’s arm, then his eyes roam down a bit to the laurels on his hips that are peaking out the slightest bit through his shirt. They’ve faded with age, because Harry had gone through his rebellious faze at the age of 17, inking his skin with as many as he could fit on without jeopardizing his prospective career as a lawyer. He’s got about 13 in total, a butterfly on his torso, the ship along with a bunch of different doodles on his bicep, and the leaves that adorn his hipbones. Rose hated them with a fierce passion, always pestered him to have them removed.

“Ehm.” Is all he replies, then, again, _awkwardly_ makes a turn to leave out and retrieve the blankets from the hallway where he’s dropped them. Much to his dismay, they’ve been plopped right in the puddle of water that’s been leaking from the ceiling ever since it’s started raining. He inspects them gingerly, then bundles them up and throws them in the dirty clothes bin. There are no other clean extra blankets in the house, he realizes, and Louis is certainly not going to sleep with a wet one.

The guy needs warmth. He’s _tiny_ , Harry thinks, with little to virtually no body fat. He absolutely can’t let Louis sleep in the freezing cold basement, _without_ an extra blanket. It’s simply inhumane, and he can’t have to bring him to the hospital with a bout of pneumonia. Besides, Harry would never hear the end of it. Louis would complain and complain about his conditions to the point of driving Harry mad until the heater was fixed, and, _no_.

He decides on the way back down the basement stairs that he’s going to do the right thing.

“Come on,” He calls once he’s inside the room, sighing. “I guess you’re sleeping with me.”

Much to his surprise, Louis nods fervently.

“Okay but it’s _only_ because I haven’t got the spider all the way.” He climbs down off the bed and gathers his blankets and pillow into his arms. “The little fuck is plotting revenge, I can feel it.”

Harry is absolutely evil, he knows he is, but he gets a sudden rush of inspiration and yells,

“There it is! The spider is right there!” Pointing to the ground near Louis’ feet. Louis bolts it out the basement door, screaming the entire way. He does this disgusted little shimmy on the way out, and Harry laughs so hard that he’s wheezing.

“Don’t fuck about!” Harry hears from his room, and he smiles.

Once he makes it up, he’s greeted by the almost adorable sight of Louis curled up underneath his covers, taking up more than half of the bed.

“I knew you’d hog the blankets.” He’s trying his hardest not to let all the affectionate things passing through his mind get to him. Louis is not adorable, Louis is a _menace._

“This is my fair share.” Louis’ voice is muffled by the pillow he’s buried himself into. “I need it.”

Harry doesn’t say anything to that, just crawls into the bed on his side and scooches Louis over, peeling enough of the duvet off of him to cover with. They’re on their own respective sides of the bed in moments, facing away from one another, and _okay._ Yes, Harry thinks. This could work. He can do this.

He’s just going to stay awake.

He’s going to stay awake, and when the inevitable happens, which is Louis trying to make a break for it sooner or later, Harry would catch him and he wouldn’t have to worry.

 

-

 

An hour later, Harry is fighting sleep. He’s wiggling all around in the bed, holding his eyelids open with his fingers, basically doing everything he can to keep himself awake. It’s only 1:10 in the morning, and he doesn’t quite think he’s going to make it.

“Can you stop trying to breakdance in the bed,” Louis groans suddenly, voice groggy with sleep.

“Sorry. I can’t sleep.” Harry replies instantly, gritting his teeth and wiggling his toes.

“Look.” There’s the familiar sound of rustling sheets that indicate Louis has turned over, and Harry peeks over his shoulder.

“I’m not running away, okay? I’m not stupid. It’s cold right now anyway, freezing even. I don’t even have shoes. You can stop worrying.”

The fucked up thing is, Harry _wants_ to believe him. Harry wants to go to sleep and not have to worry about Louis running away from him, but he just _can’t._ Louis can’t get away. Harry won’t let him.

“Okay.” He replies, but Louis makes an unconvinced noise. He seems to think for a moment before speaking again.

His voice comes out soft and very, very sweet. “You can hold me, if you want. If that’ll help you sleep, y’know, so you’ll know I’m not going anywhere.” He fidgets around a bit, and Harry turns to face him. His little features aren’t scrunched up in annoyance as usual, and he looks so… _pretty_. Harry swallows down all the feelings that rise to the surface at the sight of this, and ignores the pang of affection that punches him in the gut at the boy’s considerate words.

They’re closer now than they’ve ever been in proximity, and Harry feels hot all over.

“If that’s okay with you, I mean—I don’t, uh, I,”

Louis interrupts him, tone reverting straight back to his usual, and he flips back around.

“If it keeps you from wallowing like a beached whale, then I don’t care.” He scoots back to the point that his bum and back are snug against Harry’s chest, and Harry tentatively lifts his arm underneath the covers to rest it upon the curve of Louis’ waist. Louis’ shirt has ridden up a bit, so his palm is in direct contact with the warm, golden skin across his hips.

It’s kind of incredible, if he’s honest. It’s been so long since he’s held someone in his arms with comforting intent, and the soft hair atop Louis’ head is tickling his nose and filling it with the sweet smell of Harry’s own shampoo. It’s so _hard_ in this moment not to be fond of the tiny boy that is more or less leaning into his touch. He’s making soft little contented hums as well, and Harry doesn’t really know what to think.

So he doesn’t think at all.

He lets Louis’ soft breathing and the rise and fall of his chest lull him into a deep, dreamless sleep.

 

-

 

It becomes a part of the routine for them, after that night. Louis will amble into Harry’s room after dinner and plop himself in the middle of the bed. He’ll take up half the covers, and Harry will have to scold him, then they’ll both get in together and Harry will hold him wordlessly.

Some nights, Harry doesn’t know why, but Louis’ a bit restless. He can’t get situated and keeps huffing frustrated breaths. Harry just pulls him as close as possible and loops their legs together, burying his face into Louis’ neck from behind.

When Harry is sure Louis is asleep, he’ll forget his place as an adult and press little feather-light kisses to the spot his lips are near.

 

-

 

_‘turn on channel 6 news’_

Harry glances at the text Zayn has just sent him, and jumps up from the riveting game of go-fish he was having with Louis, and makes a dash towards the den.

He flips through the channels frantically, and accidentally skipping over it a couple times before settling on the right one.

“ _Police identified the body as young socialite Louis Tomlinson, who was last seen in London leaving the New Bloomsbury Set on Marchmont street. After having gone missing for nearly a month, he was found burned beyond facial recognition a few blocks away from a local club, but dental records have revealed that the body does in fact, belong to Tomlinson. It’s believed the 18 year old was given the common date-rape drug, Rohypnol, while he was out for a night of clubbing. It is yet to be determined whether or not this is the result of a hate crime.”_

Harry feels like he’s got ice water flowing through his veins. Like he’s just been doused with a ton of snow. He’s in total disbelief, standing frozen in his tracks until he hears a weak little sniffle from behind him, and his head snaps around.

The expression on Louis’ face is like shards of glass tinkling down Harry’s spine, then ripping through his soul. He’s so stupid. He should made sure Louis didn’t follow him, he shouldn’t have to see this.

He can only look Louis’ knitted eyebrows and wobbling bottom lip for so long. The tears that spill over and down his cheeks have Harry fussing with the remote, trying to turn the tv off.

“No, stop,” Louis quickly snatches it from Harry’s hand, “I need to see this.”

Harry wants to shut it off anyway, he doesn’t need Louis getting any more upset, but part of him understands. Louis needs to see this, and it has nothing to do with Harry. So he just watches Louis, and tries not to fall apart.

_“The renowned Tomlinson family is doing everything in their power to ensure that the person who committed this brutal crime is punished to the full extent of the law. In the meantime, they have appealed to the public and asked to let them mourn the death of their beloved Louis in private.”_

Louis’ got a look of terror etched into his features, the glare of the tv shining in his wide eyes. When his tears start falling again, Harry can’t stand to watch, so he looks at the screen instead. It’s then that he sees her. Unmistakably Charlotte Tomlinson, with her miles of blonde hair and big blue eyes like Louis’.

She’s standing at a podium before a flock of press, and she’s crying genuinely, but forcing herself to continue, hold it together for just long enough.

_“We thank you for your condolences, and your support during this horrible time of sadness for our family. We only ask that you respect our privacy, and allow us to mourn in peace.”_

Louis’ dead silent, and Harry’s afraid to look at him. He knows he won’t be able to handle what he sees.

_“Please keep our family and our dear Louis in your prayers. Words cannot describe how terribly he will be missed. Thank you.”_

There’s a whole gang of people running over and engulfing Charlotte in hugs and dabbing her eyes as soon as she steps down off the podium. Among them, Harry makes out Louis’ mother. Whose makeup is perfect and eyes are dry.

Harry looks away then and even though he prepares himself, he’s still not ready to see the way Louis’ sunk to his knees with his face buried in his hands. He’s not sobbing, he’s just silent, clearly struggling with some kind of violent inner turmoil, and Harry’s not sure what would be worse.

_“It’s rumored that his funeral services will be taking place early Sunday morning, in a small private ceremony. The Tomlinson are known to be—”_

Harry shuts off the tv then and kneels beside Louis, tentatively rubbing his back.

“It’s—it’s gonna be okay, Lou,” Harry murmurs softly, because he doesn’t know what else to do. It’s enough though. Louis uncurls from himself and just falls over in Harry’s arms. Harry catches him. Of course he does. He thinks he always will.

Louis sniffles quietly into his shoulder while Harry carries him upstairs. Harry at a loss of what to do, so he just holds Louis close, and soothes his hand up and down his back. He thinks he does fall apart a little.

He puts Louis underneath the covers and settles in behind him afterward, snugly wrapped into the blankets and sheets. Louis turns around in his arms, instead of facing away from him as usual. Harry holds his breath as Louis presses his face into his shoulder, letting out little shaky tufts of warm air on the side of his neck.

Harry has a lump in his throat, and his heart is pounding in his chest because he’s never been this close to Louis before. He feels dumb for thinking about that while Louis’ so upset, so he puts the thoughts away, and lets his hands roam up and down the skin of Louis’ back under his jumper.

“You’re okay, little pet.” Harry murmurs, cradling Louis close and rocking him as much as their position on the bed would allow.

He begins silently crying, tears dampening the material of Harry’s t-shirt.

“How fucking stupid is that? I’m _dead_. Am I dead, Harry?” He laughs manically through his tears, and the sound is like gunshot wounds to Harry’s heart.

He’s going to find out who did this. He doesn’t care how powerful they are, he doesn’t care that they manipulated the police, and medical examiners and countless others. Hell, for all Harry knew they had actually killed someone to pull this off. Harry doesn’t care. He’s going to talk to Zayn tomorrow and they’re going to find out who did this, and Harry might add capital murder next to his kidnapping charge.

Louis’ not dead, but it doesn’t even matter because he _feels_ like he is, and Harry feels like he could _kill_.

“You’re not dead.” He reassures Louis, running his fingers through the tangle-free fringe that hangs in his eyes.

He’s got this tugging feeling at the bottom of his chest, this lingering, unpleasant weight in his gut that tells him to do the right thing. The guilt has been there since that night he pulled up outside Tomlinson manor, but in the moment, it’s never been more present.

Louis is 18 years old. He’s got his entire life ahead of him, and now his family thinks he’s dead, and Harry’s just wasting his time by keeping him here. He reasons that he’s obviously not going to get any ransom money now, it’s just cruel for him to keep ruining Louis more and more.

“Louis,” he begins, gently tilting the boys chin up with two of his fingers so they’re eye to eye. “I think, I should—I’m going to let you go now.” The unmistakable presence of sadness settles like rock in his bones. He knows that Louis’ going to jump up now, run out of the door and never look back, and Harry’s lonely already.

Part of him knows he’s doing the right thing, and the most irrational part of him thinks he wouldn’t mind keeping Louis around for a while. Maybe forever. Yeah, that’s crazy.

“I’d rather stay here,” Louis says miserably.

Harry’s about to argue. Tell Louis that he doesn’t know what he’s saying, he’s just a kid, he has no idea what he wants and if he stays here, he’ll regret it eventually. But then, Louis says, so quietly that Harry could have imagined it.

“I’m _alive_ here.”

Harry doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t know what to say.

Instead, he just enjoys the way soft glow of the moonlight through the window, casts over Louis’ features and makes him look more delicate than he normally does. His thin, small nose. He’s all timid blue eyes, and arched eyebrows. He’s sniffling, surveying Harry with certain shyness.

It’s strange to Harry, seeing Louis act so young and small.

In this moment, Harry feels the overwhelming need to scoop the boy up and never let him go. He wants to protect him with everything he’s got. Fuck, it’s not even about money anymore.

Harry tests the waters and leans forward gently. Their lips are already only inches apart, and this newfound closeness causes Louis to softly gasp.

The soft skin of Louis’ bottom lip brushes Harry’s, and Harry thinks that they’re going to properly kiss. His heart is beating erratically in his ribcage, and there are butterflies in his stomach that are threatening to fly out of his ass.

In a sudden rush of movement, Louis flips around on the bed and Harry is left in the cold, wondering what the fuck just happened.

-

 

It starts with a simple hug after breakfast.

Harry is cleaning the syrup off of him and Louis’ plates from the morning’s pancakes before putting them in the dishwasher. He has plans to go into town for the first time in a month today, to meet up with Zayn and discuss the situation with Louis and the body the police found.

Louis is standing near the sink, picking at his fingernail. He’s trailed after Harry almost the whole morning. Wherever Harry is today, Louis is not far behind.

“You could help rather than just standing there, if you’re bored.” Harry offers, and Louis scoffs a laugh. Harry takes that as a no.

Once he’s finished, he closes the dishwasher and locks it, then wipes his hands on a clean flannel.

He makes a turn to leave, but Louis calls after him awkwardly which makes him spin around.

“Yes? Oh.” Louis charges forward and wraps his arms around Harry’s waist tightly, face buried into his neck.

“Thanks for last night.” He mumbles, and Harry reaches around to support his back in the hug. It’s very nice, this kind of contact.

“Sorry for kidnapping you.” Harry replies, and Louis laughs against his cheek.

 

-

 

During dinner, Louis takes it upon himself to plop right into Harry’s lap at the table as they eat. Harry doesn’t mind it, of course, even feeds Louis little bites of his own roll and a few forkfuls of spaghetti, but he’s _worried._ He’s afraid that Louis might be going a little stir-crazy, and that might be the reason he wants so much attention.

When they make their way to the couch to watch their usual after-meal film, Louis snuggles up closely to Harry underneath the blanket and opts to falling asleep early on his chest instead of watching the movie.

The days pass like that now, and it’s seamlessly blended into their little daily routine. Every second spent together is spent having some sort of physical contact.

Louis will demand to be piggy-backed down the stairs in the morning to breakfast.

“Because I’m _tired.”_ He explains to a groggy Harry, reaching out his hands in a grabby motion

Louis will hug Harry from the front while he’s doing dishes, while he’s cooking sometimes. He’ll even sit cross-legged on the toilet seat while Harry has a shower, and vice versa.

They spend their nights in bed talking about pointless things, like the need for golf as a sport, or the appropriate way to shake someone’s hand in public.

Harry and Zayn have yet to figure anything out about the Tomlinson’s. Harry’s got wild suspicion that they had something to do with the body found. Zayn comes over to Bradgate manor sometimes now, at first, he was always weary of how intimate the way that Harry interacts with Louis seems. Eventually, though, he stopped giving Louis a side eye.

Zayn’s become fond of Louis that it makes Harry’s heart ache. Zayn doesn’t get along with others well, but Harry knows just how irresistible Louis’ sarcasm and quick wit can be. It’s amazing how well the two of them get along, laughing and coming up with some of the stupidest things that Harry’s ever heard. It’s really nice though.

His best mate and the boy they kidnapped becoming friends. It strangely feels like something permanent.

The line between captor and victim has been blurred too much now to even tell, and Harry knows that there is no going back. He couldn’t find the way even if he wanted to.

 

-

 

Louis is fucking with Harry’s head. Literally.

They’re on the sofa watching reruns of Doctor Who, Harry’s sitting up against the arm and Louis’ got his head laid between Harry’s legs. He mindlessly runs his fingers through Louis’ hair and scratches at his scalp.

The pressure on his dick doesn’t become apparent until Louis begins loll his head from side to side ever so slightly. It’s bearable, but Harry is obviously getting hard.

He grits his teeth and tries to focus on the tellie, but it’s too difficult. The last time Harry had his cock even remotely touched was more than 6 months ago, so it doesn’t take much to get him off.

Louis has been doing this an awful lot lately. The other day, while Harry was reading a book on his phone, Louis was subtly grinding himself down onto Harry’s cock, disguising it cleverly as being giddy about something. Just yesterday, Louis purposely left the shower door and curtain open while he wanked off. _Loudly_.

The noises he made will probably get Harry off for weeks. Albeit guiltily.

Louis puts his hand on Harry’s knee, creeping upward in what he thinks is subtlety. On second thought, that’s not really fair. Harry probably wouldn’t notice if he wasn’t so horny all the time, and so hyperaware of everything right now.

Louis hand makes it high up on Harry’s thigh, where he starts… stroking. His tiny hand just petting back and forth, fingertips brushing the seam of Harry’s joggers at his inner thigh. His touch is warm even through the material, so light and tantalizing, and it’s all Harry’s got not to moan.

He holds in any inappropriate and potentially embarrassing noises, but he can’t stop all his blood from traveling south, going straight to his dick, which is slowly thickening up.

“Louis,” he whispers sharply, “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” Louis immediately asks, too quietly and too innocently.

Harry knows that Louis knows exactly what he’s doing, as the boy continues unfazed. He turns his head, so he can look up at Harry coyly. His other hand comes up to cup Harry through his joggers, his the pressure and warmth from his hand has Harry hissing in a breath.

“This?” Louis asks, palming Harry just lightly enough to make him go mad. He looks down at Harry’s nearly raging hard cock, lashes fanned out and pretty, and then back up at Harry.

He tsks, “I think you’re the one that needs to stop.”

Harry just stares at him, a cloud of lust making his vision hazy as he watches the boy lying between his legs. Louis’ head is just lying there, mouth too close to Harry’s cock, hand barely working him over. What a tease.

Fuck, Louis’ so _young_ , just barely over half Harry’s age, and Harry _kidnapped_ him for god’s sake. The rational part of his brain is telling him to get up, send Louis to the basement and then straight home in the morning. This is wrong and he cares about Louis too much to ever hurt him like that.

The way that Louis’ looking at him, dark blue eyes half lidded, begging for something he doesn’t even know he’s asking for, has Harry grabbing Louis, and pulling him up to straddle his lap.

Louis rests his arms around Harry’s neck, his forearms on Harry’s shoulders. Harry wants to kiss him, but when he leans up, Louis pushes his hips down, and Harry can’t do anything but groan lowly. He can feel how hard Louis is right against his dick, the friction between them burning hot.

Louis arches his back, his hands making a mess of Harry’s hair as he grinds down again and again, working up a slow rhythm. He’s got Harry held to his chest, so Harry traces kisses across his dainty collarbones and between them, making a fiery path up to his neck. He moans are muffled into the skin every time Louis rolls his hips just right, dragging his tip across Harry’s, wet even through all the clothing.

“Fuck, Lou,” Harry mumbles low and rough, his lips shaping the words onto Louis’ pulse point, “You feel what you do to me, baby?” He emphasizes his point by bringing his hips up to meet Louis’ on the next upstroke.

Louis tugs Harry up by his hair, and Harry lets his lips drag across Louis’ skin on his way. He’s got a little boy grinding down in his lap between layers and layers of fabric, and it’s pathetic really, but Harry thinks he could come from this. He _knows_ Louis could make him come like this.

It’s like time is blazing away, flickering by like the flame on a candle, so fast. Harry feels like he’s got red hot blisters all over his skin, Louis leaving a sizzling trail everywhere he touches.

Louis pulls Harry in, letting his lips trace across Harry’s skin and god, Harry just wants to kiss him. He wants to slide his tongue into Louis’ mouth and kiss him until he can’t breathe, until he doesn’t even remember what air is.

Louis’ lips are nearing Harry’s, and he’s grinding down so hard and slow, there’s white heat building up everywhere inside Harry. Their lips are so close to hotly colliding, it all seizes up in one breath and—

There’s a knock at the door.

 

-

 

Harry awkwardly stuffs his obvious erection down as far as it will go before looking through the peephole to see who wins the title for the biggest cockblock on the face of the fucking planet.

Who else could it be, other than lovely little Mrs. Peterson from across the way.

Louis has scrambled away in embarrassment, and Harry thinks he could cry from how frustrated he is right now. He was _so close._

Harry opens the door and plasters a smile on his face, greeting Mrs. Peterson warmly.

“We haven’t seen much of you and pretty Rose lately, have you two been busy at work?” She says from the doorway, and Harry shakes his head.

“That ships long since sailed. Divorce finalized a few months ago. Uh, did you need anything?” He asks, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck. He’s a prick, he knows he is, but this is obviously _very bad timing._

“A cup of sugar if you don’t mind, my love. I’ve ran out halfway through a Bundt cake and saw that you were parked in the drive! You were always one for baking, weren’t you?”

“Sugar, yes. Ah, just give me a… hold on.” He runs to the kitchen and makes his work as quick as he can. He pours sugar into a Tupperware container and rushes it back to her, thanking her profusely for coming to visit and practically shoving her out of the doorway and towards her car.

When he finally gets the door closed, he locks it back and puts his face in his hands, groaning loudly.

 

-

 

During dinner, Louis refuses to speak to him.

Harry doesn’t exactly know how the mishap from earlier was his _fault_ , but he rations just to let Louis be mad at whatever he wants to. He cares about the little shit a lot, so.

They stay on opposite sides of the couch during the movie, and Louis wordlessly gets up when the credits roll. Harry thinks that Louis is going to go to the basement at first, but watches as he enters Harry’s room without comment or a glance back.

Harry hoists himself out of the chair, making the long journey to his room. Louis is already curled up on one side of the bed facing the wall, breathing evenly, but obviously awake.

“I’m sorry for whatever I did.” Harry grumbles as he wriggles out of his trousers and socks, throwing them in the laundry bin along with his shirt. Louis doesn’t reply.

Harry climbs into the bed and gets as comfortable as he can, which isn’t very, considering that every night for the past few weeks he’s been holding Louis. He’s grown accustomed to having someone there again, to holding them until he fell into a deep sleep. It feels wrong to have empty arms, and he doesn’t know if that’s a good thing.

For the past month, he and Louis have gone through hell and back. They’ve come _so far_ from the Tomlinson boy Harry had kidnapped to get rich quick. They were now a… thing. Were they? Harry has no idea. He’s so fucking confused and sad and kind of angry at himself for letting this happen in the first place.

The thing is, he wants Louis. All the time. He can’t deny that now. He wants to hold Louis and kiss him, wants to be the one Louis counts on. Wants to be the one Louis… _loves._

He lays on his back in bed and stares up at the ceiling, arms crossed.

“Louis will you please come here? I miss you.” Harry sighs, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. He’s afraid of rejection, if he’s honest with himself. He, a 32 year old man, is afraid of being rejected by a tiny little teenager. How funny is that?

“I’m literally less than a foot away from you.” Louis says, and Harry has to laugh.

“Does this mean I can touch you?” He says, scooting closer a bit.

Louis turns around to face Harry, who has this smile on his face that he can’t wipe off.

They stare at one another for a moment, before Louis opens his mouth.

“Did you know that a pigs’ orgasm can last for up to thirty minutes?”

 

-

 

“When I was a baby, I used to put on my mums bras,” Harry explains, and Louis is losing his resolve. They’re being sucked in by that late-night delusional chatter, laughing at pretty much everything that comes out of either of their mouths. “I would put on my mums bras and high heels and literally sing Selene Dion in front of my family. I was a star.”

“You’re kidding.” Louis wipes at his eyes with his fingers and dissolves into another bout of laughter. Harry chuckles a bit and stares at the boy next to him, grinning. He reaches out his hand to trace his index finger over the little crinkle by Louis’ eye that appears when he smiles, softly running his finger over it.

It’s one of those moments that Harry would like to just freeze and save, to capture in his mind and remember until the day he dies.

Louis’ laughter fades, and what they’re left with is lazy, genuine smiles that are meant only for one another. It’s crazy, Harry thinks, but he might be in love with Louis.

He might be in love with the ethereal, swimming blue eyes. Harry just might be in love with the flushed pink lips and high cheekbones. Louis is so fucking beautiful that it’s making Harry want to cry. He wants to protect this beautiful thing, to guard it with his life.

Louis’ smile has slipped away, but in its place is a new expression. One of fond adoration and sparkling hope.

Harry continues to trace Louis’ face. His nose, his cheeks, his lips.

“You’re really gorgeous.” He whispers, and Louis flushes even in the dark. They have somehow gravitated closer on the bed, foreheads resting together and breath fanning each other’s lips.

Louis places his hand palm down in the center of Harry’s chest and looks at him with these sweet, soft eyes.

“I’m glad I met you, Harry Styles. Don’t wanna be anywhere else.”

Harry has two options. He can do the obvious thing, which is to grab Louis and kiss him and feel him and love him until they were both exhausted, or he could walk away. He could load Louis up in the van right now and take him to wherever. He could be free of all this and leave it all behind. He could start a new life.

Yeah, fuck that.

Harry surges forward once and it’s as if everything is falling directly into place. Louis’ a little stunned at first, his eyelashes brushing against Harry’s cheeks as he blinks in a flurry. It only takes a moment before he relaxes into it, and their lips slot together perfectly.

Harry captures Louis’ lips between his over and over again, kissing light and airy until Louis opens up a little, letting Harry in and kissing him back. Harry licks into Louis’ mouth as soon as he gets the chance, massaging his tongue against the smaller boy’s.

It feels so right to be connected to Louis in this way, to feel his lips move and to breathe him in. Harry cups Louis’ cheek with one hand, letting it slide over his soft skin and run into his hair, wanting to touch everything at once.

Louis pulls back for air, gripping Harry’s shirt and looking up at him in something akin to fervor. Harry’s lips get lonely even in that second, so he latches on to Louis’ pulse point, making an open mouthed path back up to his mouth. Harry captures his sweet lips over and over again, and tries to figure out why the hell he waited so long to do this.

They lick into one another’s mouths with desperation. The lewd sounds that their tongues make every time they pull apart are unnaturally loud in the dark, quiet room, and Harry fucking loves it. He could kiss Louis for hours, well into the early morning and even after the sun rises. If the boy would let him, Harry might kiss Louis forever.

Louis kicks the blanket away from them both and breaks their smoldering kiss to roll on top of Harry, slipping right between his legs with ease. Their groins are perfectly aligned as their lips collide together again.

Harry can feel Louis’ erection against his own through his joggers. It’s a little smaller but just as hard and thick, and Harry wants to make him feel so good. He wants to do things with this little boy that he’s never done with anyone else.

He lets hands explore every bit of Louis he can reach, softly trailing them down his back, gripping his curvy little hips and cupping his bum when he can get away with it. Harry wants it all at once, more than he’s ever wanted anything.

Louis rocks his hips down makes a satisfied little ‘mmf’, rutting their cocks together perfectly even through their clothes. Harry lets out a low moan into Louis’ mouth, hot and frustrated, moving his hands to tug questioning at the waistband of Louis’ trousers.

“Fuck, god—” Louis breaks their kiss to try and help Harry take them off hastily. “ _Please.”_ He whines, and Harry never stood a chance.

He gets Louis’ bottoms and his pants down over his plush little bum, and Louis kicks them the rest of the way off.

Harry is _mesmerized_ by Louis’ cock. It’s so pretty, curving upward towards his tummy, tip flushed pink and a glistening wet with a bit of precome. Harry loses himself, gripping Louis’ hips and trying to pull them right into his face. He wants Louis’ cock down his throat so bad he can already taste it.

Louis stops him though, both hands on Harry’s shoulders, tugging on his shirt around the neckline, urging him to take it off. Harry does so gamely, pulling it over the back of his head and feeling his whole body thrum when Louis’ eyes rake over him hungrily, bottom lip tucked between his sharp little teeth.

Louis leans forward then, latching on to Harry’s collarbone. He bites down a little before soothing over the spot with his tongue and Harry hisses at the sensation.

He sneaks his hands underneath Louis’ shirt, wondering why the fuck it’s still a factor here, while Louis kisses and sucks and bites his way down past Harry’s navel, leaving a trail of white heat glowing inside his belly.

 Louis hooks his fingers inside Harry’s waistband, touch ghosting over Harry’s v-line and making him shiver. Harry lifts his hips up as Louis boldly tugs his bottoms down, cock slapping heavily against his stomach, blushing red and begging to be touched.

Louis’ just staring at it, his beady blue eyes steaming with lust, like he’s drooling for it. It makes every nerve in Harry’s body tremble to have Louis looking at him like that, like he’s the sexiest thing on this fucking planet.

“Your dick is really big,” Louis’ voice is high pitched and throaty, and maybe he didn’t mean to say that, because his hand claps over his mouth as soon as it’s out.

Harry laughs, gently enveloping Louis’ hand in his own and coaxing it away from his mouth, “Thanks, love.”

Louis breaks into a shy little grin then and laughs a little timidly, looking down so his lashes cast shadows over his cheeks. He’s so _gorgeous_. Harry loves this shy, tactile side of Louis nearly more than he loves the loud, spirited side. Maybe he just loves Louis.

“C’mere, baby,” Harry murmurs, easily tugging off Louis’ large night shirt. He revels in the fact that Louis lets Harry’s eyes travel every inch of his tanned, tight little body without complaint. He’s arching his back and grinning as if he’s putting himself on display, and Harry thinks he might die.

They kiss again, all lips and tongue just like before. Harry’s got his hands on Louis’ bare hips, and with the tiniest bit of pressure, Louis slips right between Harry’s parted legs. The way their cocks line up perfectly, thick and hot together, has them both moaning. Louis whines high and needy, and Harry groans from somewhere deep inside him, low and guttural.

Louis’ rocks his hips back and forth, working up a quick little rhythm. There’s precome everywhere, making the slide of their dicks together hotter and slicker.

Harry pushes up into Louis’ strokes, has the little boy whimpering on top of him.

Louis loses his pace, humping Harry without any technique after a moment, and Harry knows he’s close. It’s so fucking amazing to have Louis desperate and writhing against him, but it’s such a tease and Harry needs _more_.

He easily flips them over, Louis opening his legs seamlessly and letting Harry between them. There’s so much friction and pressure when Harry grinds down into Louis, cocks rutting together heavy and hot.

Louis locks his ankles around Harry’s waist, sealing every fiber of space between them, “Oh god, Harry,” he whines, nails digging in as they comb down Harry’s sweaty, muscled back.

They’re nothing more than wet skin sliding together. Harry licking into Louis’ open mouth and capturing his parted lips between his as the boy whimpers, needy and spaced out.

“Fuck, baby,” Harry groans, pushing Louis’ feathery hair back from his forehead.

 He’s rocking his hips down so hard, feeling that fiery build bringing him closer to orgasm with every stroke. God, Louis’ just lying there pliantly, letting himself be used, but Harry still feels like he’s the one being wrecked. He can feel it about to crash over him, he’s going to fucking come—

 _♫_ _My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard, and they’re like, it’s better than yours_ _♫_

The moment is inherently awkward as they look to one another. Harry hangs his head and lets out a groan of extreme frustration as his phone continues to ring, and Louis makes a move to wiggle out from underneath Harry’s body. His cock feels like an iron weight as he scrambles to get off the bed, trying to catch Louis’ arm before he becomes distant and cold again.

“Lou—“ The door slams just as Harry calls his name, and suddenly they’ve taken 3 steps backwards.

He picks up his phone gingerly, realizing that it’s Zayn, and tugs on a pair of briefs as he answers.

“You’d better be dying.” Harry sighs, and there’s a terse laugh on the other end of the line.

 _“I’ll give you one better_ ,” Zayn says _“I found out what’s going on with the Tomlinson’s_.”

 

-

 

“They don’t ‘ave anything to do with it,” Zayn whispers to Harry as they sit at a table at the local McDonalds. It’s rather late at night, so they’re alone aside from the workers.

“The Tomlinson’s think he’s actually dead, and the police think the body is his.” He explains, and Harry scrunches his brows in confusion.

“How the fuck do they figure that? How can someone else have his… teeth. That doesn’t make sense.”

“Look,” Zayn pulls out a folder from inside of his jacket and plops it on the table, sliding it towards Harry.

When he opens it, images of a badly burnt red and black corpse are visible, and Harry has to fight the urge to gag. He pushes them aside to get to the documents underneath as Zayn continues to speak.

“Man called Dougie Sandifer, known ‘as ‘D Sand’ ‘round Manchester. He’s been real big into sellin’ drugs since like 2005, been in trouble a few times. Anyway, point is, our boy wanted to do somethin’ drastic,” Harry looks over the pages swiftly as he listens to Zayn, reading things like ‘multiple assault charges’ and ‘substance abuse.’

“So he figures, why not fake ‘is own death. That’s where Lou comes in, see, D Sand got connections you and I can only dream of. He paid someone off, right? But they chuffed up. Look,” Zayn points to something on the page Harry is currently looking at. It’s a newspaper article from 2000.

“Man is arrested for felony after faking own death, police say he bribed medical examiner who is also being charged.” Harry reads aloud, and he’s very confused. How could this have anything to do with Louis?

“Don’t you see?” Zayn flaps his hands exasperatedly, and Harry shakes his head.

“He paidsomeoneoff _,_ but they fucked up. _Bigtime_. Harry, they’re s’posed to switch the actual dental records of the dead with the person who wants to fake their death, but,” He taps the paper on the table fervently and raises his eyebrows, and suddenly Harry gets it.

“They switched the records with another living person. Louis.”

 

-

Harry walks into Bradgate manor and just knows that something isn’t right. He smells something… _cooking._ He smells bacon.

He runs into the kitchen to make sure the oven is off, only to find the cutest thing in the entire world waiting for him.

Louis is standing over the sink with a scalding hot pan in his hands, bright pink apron tied around his waist. He’s draining the grease from the pan, from what it looks like, and it keeps popping and getting on him.

“What in the hell.”

Louis screams at Harry’s voice and nearly drops the skillet on his foot, and Harry can’t help but laugh.

“What the fuck would you do in an actual burglar situation? Would you scream at them just like that?” He asks lightheartedly, smiling as he grabs a seat at the bar. He sets his chin in his hands and watches Louis, who’s now getting a tray of biscuits out of the oven. They’re burnt on the bottom, Harry can smell it, but it makes his heart leap in his chest.

“If you don’t shut up, you’re not getting any of it.” Harry skips mentioning that he isn’t hungry, because of course he’s going to eat what Louis’ cooked.

“I just figure I’m being an arse lately,” Louis continues, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly as he retrieves some glass plates from the cabinet. He looks overwhelmingly adorable, dressed only in a giant t-shirt and a pair of Harry’s boxer-briefs that hang loose on his legs a bit. It makes Harry feel smug and protective, that Louis is wearing his clothes. His hair has a dusting of flour in it and a smudge of something that resembles Nutella is smeared on the tip of his nose. “And you cook every day, so I just thought. You know.”

It’s amazing, how they’ve come to this.

“Can I like, hug you?” Louis asks sheepishly after a moment, fiddling with his nail, and Harry thinks that a hug is way past due.

“Come on over here, baby.”

Louis springs into action almost instantly, rounding the bar and throwing his arms around Harry’s neck before Harry gets the chance to turn in the chair fully.

As usual, he cradles the back of Louis’ head close to him as he would a child, kissing his temple and rubbing his back soothingly.

“I’m right here, precious boy. I’m here.” He almost feels bad, because he knows this isn’t going to last. Louis is only a little teenager with a bad bout of Stockholm syndrome, and he’s going to leave sooner or later. It’s selfish, but Harry thinks he doesn’t ever want Louis to go.

“I’m really sorry for being a shit last night.” He says into Harry’s neck, more or less climbing onto his lap. Once he’s situated, he turns sideways and looks into Harry’s face questioningly, raising his thumb into his mouth.

Harry hasn’t ever seen Louis actually suck his thumb, but on dark nights when they’re lying in bed, he’ll hear the soft, gentle suckling sounds as Louis lulls himself to sleep with it. He doesn’t stick the whole thing into his mouth, Harry notices, only a bit of the tip as to make it seem as though he’s biting his nail.

“No, baby, don’t be sorry. You’ve done nothing wrong, alright?” He brushes Louis’ hair away from his forehead and presses a kiss there, smiling.

“I have though.” He says around his thumb, words slurring. “I’ve been storming off like a prick.”

“I’ve been a prick,” Harry says, “I shouldn’t be um—doing things like that with you. You’re young, Louis, you’re not supposed to know what you want. I’m the one who should know better.”

“I just wanna be here with you,” Louis rests his head on Harry’s chest, clutching tightly at his shirt, “I don’t care about anything else.”

“I know,” Harry soothes his hand up and down Louis’ tiny back, dropping a kiss to Louis’ hair and then resting his chin there. They stay like that for a moment.

“Let’s eat, yeah? Smells delicious,” Harry says when he sees smoke coming from a pan on the stove.

Louis pops up, and Harry watches as he finishes up, making two plates piled high with very brownish looking pancakes and extra well done bacon. Mostly he just watches the way Louis’ hips swing when he walks and the graceful movements of his delicate shoulders, but that’s not important.

They eat out on the deck, the ocean air crispy and cold but still nice. The food is less than delicious but Harry doesn’t say anything because Louis looks so delighted, his hair blowing fluidly as he basks in the dingy, clouded sunlight. He keeps looking out over the water, and then smiling back at Harry. He’s so beautiful, Harry thinks they should definitely do this more often.

                                                                                                                                    

-

The next morning, expecting to feel a warm body pressed up against his own, Harry stretches and yawns in the bed, waking up slowly. He extends an arm to run his hand down Louis’ back, but comes into contact with the sheets.

He feels around a little more before his eyes snap open and he sits up abruptly, throwing the covers off of himself.

“Louis?” He calls, padding down the hallway to peer into the bathroom. The door to it is open, light on, but Louis isn’t in it. All of the lights that lead into the den and kitchen are on, but Louis is nowhere to be found.

Harry starts panicking. He’s been too lenient. He’s lost sight of reality here. He’s let Louis manipulate him out of his trust, and now Louis’ gone, escaped the first chance he got. It weighs like an anvil on Harry.

“Louis, come on, stop playing—” he stops in his tracks when he sees it. Relief flooding his veins along with something else.

An arse, Louis’ arse particularly, is sticking out of the air vent in the hallway. Harry must have walked past it three times.

“Louis, what have you done now?” Harry closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers, exasperated. He thought they were past this. Obviously they’re not.

“I got stuck,” Louis’ voice echoes through the vent. It’s funny enough to lift Harry’s heart a bit, not much, considering it’s plunged to the depths. Louis’ done that to him.

“I could tell that much. Running away again, I see,” he sounds like he’s feeling too sorry for himself. He can’t help it. The thought of Louis trying leave him after everything.. it hurts.

“No!” Louis says, a bit defensively, “No. I wasn’t running away.”

“You weren’t—oh,” Harry pauses, feeling too many things at once, the most prominent being the smile that tugging at the corners of his mouth, “Then what are you doing?”

Louis sighs, sounding frustrated, “I just wanted… I wanted some fresh air, okay? I haven’t been outside in so _long_ , Harry.”

Harry’s smile fades and he suddenly feels gutted. He thought that since he wasn’t locking Louis in the basement every night, he wasn’t depriving him of much. Clearly he was wrong. He’s been smothering Louis so much that the boy’s getting cabin-fever. So terrible that he’s forgotten how to use the front door.

“I’m so sorry, Lou,” Harry quickly apologizes, not knowing what else to say. He drops down, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Louis. Next to Louis’ _butt_.

“You can make it up to me later,” Louis says softly, a little too innocent. Harry’s got all sorts of ideas forming in his head of ways he can make it up to Louis. Some of them X-rated and very far off from what the boy obviously meant. Harry can’t help it though.

“I’ve got some ideas,” it’s not a lie, “I will make it up to you, I swear it.”

“Alright, but right now, I need you to please get me out,” Louis’ knees shift restlessly on the hard wood floor, “I’m hurting,” he adds weakly, like he doesn’t want to admit it.

“I know, love, I know,” Harry reaches out tentatively, placing his hand on the small of Louis’ exposed back. Louis stops shifting with the touch, so Harry rubs small circles on the soft skin there. “Just let me look first, yeah?”

“Okay, just do it fast please.”

Harry sits up on his knees, hands on Louis’ sides. He sees how the frame around the vent is digging in and soothes over the slightly reddened skin with his palm to try and alleviate the pain of it a bit. He knows it’s a little much, but Louis goes a lot less tense the longer Harry touches him, so Harry doesn’t feel guilty.

Louis’ wearing the same yoga pants he was the first time Harry saw him. The black material stretched taut over his bum, making it look full and round, and perky with youth. The way Louis’ bent over on his knees makes his bum arch in the air, giving him nice curves all the way down to his shapely little legs.

He looks _delicious_ like this.

“Stop enjoying this so much,” Louis deadpans, and Harry can hear the smirk in his voice.

Harry blushes, “Don’t be cheeky,” he doesn’t think twice about letting his hand slide down and pat Louis’ bum firmly, just enough to accentuate his point.

He meant it playfully, it was a stupid pun that wasn’t even funny, and he certainly didn’t mean for Louis to subtly push his hips up, seeking out Harry’s touch after it’s gone. He definitely didn’t mean to elicit that quiet, needy little sound out of Louis, one that he probably wasn’t meant to hear.

He pushes his luck, slowly lets his hand slide over the curve of Louis’ bum, just stroking down the plush skin there. He keeps going, slipping his fingers inside the tiny gap between Louis’ thighs. His thumb caressing Louis’ cheek where his palm is still flush against his bum. He doesn’t stop until his fingertips nudge against Louis’ balls and the boy shivers.

The acoustics in the vent give away the content sigh that leaves Louis’ lips. Harry feels a lick of heat coast up through him, and pulls his hand back so he can adjust himself, thankful that Louis can’t see. God, if he could, he’d get this little boy nice and slick, and fuck into him slow and deep just like this. Just imagining how hot and tight Louis would be has his cock thickening up.

“Harry?” Louis’ voice brings Harry out of his thoughts, he sounds scared.

“I’ve got you,” Harry shushes him, wrapping his hands around Louis’ hips again. He lets his thumb rub little circles there before he grips on, tugging just a bit to see just how stuck Louis is. He’s in there pretty bad, Harry might have to jerk him out.

He gives a big pull, and Louis doesn’t even budge, “God, you’re in so tight,” Harry let’s his hands soothe down Louis’ plump little thighs, noting how tiny they look in his hands, “Might have to get you all lubed up before I can pull you out,” it’s a joke, but it comes out too low and too rough.

He pretends not to notice the way Louis’ muscles shift in his hands, wanting more of his touch. He’ll look into that later, right now he’s starting to worry that he won’t be able to get the boy out. He honestly wonders how Louis even did this.

“Can you push back on your knees a little, babe?” Harry prompts, squeezing Louis’ thighs before getting back to his hips. He pulls at the same time that Louis pushes, and he doesn’t have to get rough like he thought he might. Louis pops right out.

Harry pulls him the rest of the way, helping him sit up on his knees. Louis looks breathless and little scared as Harry brushes the dust out of his fringe and off the top of his cheeks.

Harry doesn’t get a chance to ask if Louis’ okay before he’s lunging forward to tuck his head into Harry’s chest, clutching at his shoulders. Harry wraps his arms around the small boy, one hand nestled in his baby soft hair, the other rubbing his back soothingly.

“It’s okay, love,” he murmurs against Louis’ shoulder, “I’ve got you now, baby, you’re okay.”

He feels Louis softly whine against his shirt, and tightens his arms around his figure. He just holds him for a while, rocking him a little from side to side, whispering whatever comforting words he thinks Louis needs. They stay like that until Louis’ heartbeat stops fluttering against Harry’s chest, and he’s not so tense.

Harry honestly thinks Louis’ fallen asleep, and he’s about to carry him back to bed, when Louis pulls back. He looks up at Harry with an unreadable expression, blue eyes pleading for something, almost _wild_ with it.

“What is it?” Harry asks, gently brushing the stray hairs away from Louis’ face.

“Nothing I just—” Louis’ eyes dart back and forth to both of Harry’s as he swallows thickly, “Fuck, do you wanna kiss me?”

Harry’s shocked at first that Louis even thinks to ask. Of _course_ Harry wants to kiss him. He _always_ wants to kiss him. He wants Louis more than he’s ever wanted anyone. He wants him in every single way, more ways than he even knew he could. He can’t even hide it, doesn’t care if it’s obvious.

“ _God_ yes,” Harry almost moans, drawing Louis into a kiss by his neck. Their lips crash together almost painfully, both of them making muffled noises against the others mouth.

Harry slides his tongue in once he works Louis’ mouth open, rolling it against Louis’, the kiss already sloppy and desperate. They break apart to catch a quick breath before their lips collide together again, Harry licking into Louis’ mouth every time he captures Louis’ lips between his own.

He grips Louis’ hips and pulls the boy into his lap, straddling himself between Louis’ knees. Louis lets out an excited little hum against his mouth, letting himself mold against Harry’s body, sealing every space between them.

Harry’s hands slide down over Louis’ bum, plump little cheeks fitting perfectly into his large hands. He squeezes gently, kneading Louis’ arse roughly. Louis alternates between pushing into Harry’s hands and rocking down against Harry’s cock, letting out frustrated little huffs of air against his lips as he does so.

They stay tied together by their tongues, Harry not being able to get over how _perfect_ Louis’ ass feels in his hands. Just the _thought_ of how it might feel in his mouth is has his dick steadily filling up for this perfect little boy he’s got grinding down on his lap and arching into his hands.

Louis pulls back from the kiss, placing his hands on Harry’s shoulder when Harry tries to go at his neck. Harry looks up at him then, and fuck, he already looks wrecked. His cheeks are blotched red, lips pink, swollen and so _wet_ , little blue eyes beady with how dilated his pupils are. So god damn beautiful. Harry nearly faints at the thought of how Louis would look after he’s actually been fucked.

 “Please take me to bed,” Louis breathes out, nails digging into Harry’s shirt at his shoulders. His voice is raspier than usual, and an octave lower.

Harry doesn’t think twice before standing straight up with Louis in his arms, the boy automatically locking his legs around Harry’s waist as he’s carried toward the bedroom.

They don’t get a meter from where they were before they’re kissing again, rushed and messy, nothing but tongues and teeth. Harry is gripping Louis’ bum where he’s holding him up, and Louis’ hips are rotating against him instinctively. It’s a miracle that Harry can even walk.

As soon as his knees butt against the bed, he tips over, crawling up toward the pillows with Louis clinging to him like a koala bear. He reaches the pillows and lies Louis down gently, sitting up on his knees between Louis’ legs.

He pulls his shirt over his head, feeling his skin prickle with heat when Louis’ eyes dance across his chest and down his abs, then stopping at his groin, where his dick is so hard the tip is peeking out of the waistband on his pants. He’s going to tug those off as well, but Louis’ little hands are gripping his sides immediately, pulling Harry down on top of him.

He braces himself on his knees a bit so he’s not squishing Louis, he fits himself between his open thighs like he belongs there. Harry rocks his hips down, easily feeling the how hard Louis is through the thin material of his leggings. Louis whines into his mouth, his own little hips canting desperately against Harry’s.

Harry groans, grinding Louis down into the mattress. And it’s all good, fucking _amazing_ , but he cannot stop thinking about Louis’ ass. He thinks he’s going to explode if he doesn’t get his hands or something on it right fucking now. 

He pulls away from the kiss, pushing Louis’ hair back on his forehead, “Wanna turn over for me,” he murmurs.

Louis nods and closes eyes, leaning up for one last peck. Harry sits back and let’s Louis turn over. Without being asked, he gets up on his hands and knees, propping his bum right up in Harry’s face.

Harry breath catches. The black material pulled taut over Louis’ ass from the way his back is arched, makes it look ever the more plump and round and _succulent._ Harry thinks he blacks out for a moment when Louis rolls his hips in a slow circle, making his bum do a little shake.

He moans “Mm, baby.” pushing his pants down enough to free his rock hard dick, “Why don’t you take those off. Lemme see.”

Harry’s cock is hot in his hand as he works his fist over it, watching Louis drag the waistband down over the swell of his bum, tantalizingly slow, revealing the tanned skin.

Louis is putting on a little show for Harry only, trying to tease him and get him all worked up. And _fuck_ if it’s not working. Harry’s got precome leaking down to his knuckles.

Louis leaves the black waistband just under his cheeks and wiggles his little hips again, shaking his bum slowly, like a fucking invitation.

“Fuck,” Harry takes his hand that’s not wanking his dick and places it on Louis’ cheek, soothing his thumb over the supple skin, “So fucking sexy, Lou.” He sounds so out of breath and desperate, but he doesn’t give a shit, wants Louis to know how much he _needs_ him.

Louis arches into Harry’s touch, and Harry’s cock gives a jump at the way his bum jiggles slightly, “Harry _please_ ,” Louis whines, needy.

Louis’ cock must be so hard that it’s aching now, and Harry feels bad that he hasn’t been giving him enough attention. He makes quick work of his own pants, then peels Louis out of his trousers and goes ahead and tugs off his shirt as well, throwing all of them on the floor somewhere.

Harry reaches around, wrapping his hand around Louis’ cock. It’s hard and hot in his palm, and Louis rocks his hips forward, whimpering high in his throat when Harry gives him a few gracious tugs. At this rate, Harry knows that neither of them is going to last long.

He pulls his hand back, and Louis whines at the loss, so Harry presses a few apologetic kisses at the base of his spine, and he trails them down further and further, stopping right at the swell of Louis’ bum, silently asking for permission.

Louis leans forward a bit so he can look back at Harry expectantly. The way he’s flushed a beautiful pink and bent over and laid out completely nude and only for him, is fucking _obscene_. The boy pushes his hips back, asking for more, and Harry’s going to give him _exactly_ what he wants.

Harry gets his hands on Louis’ cheeks, palming his perfect bum, and he can’t help himself, he leans forward and sinks his teeth into the plush flesh. Louis hisses, then moans unabashedly when Harry soothes the spot over with his tongue.

“ _Ohh_ ,”

Harry wants to leave marks all over Louis’ cheeks, to have him _writhing_ against the sheets and _begging_ to be eaten out, but there’s no way either of them can last

 that long. Harry spreads Louis’ cheeks apart, mouth practically watering for his little pink hole.

He can’t restrain himself and goes right in, pressing a chaste kiss to the puckered skin. Louis cries out, a shiver quaking through his little body. His hips are humping the bed unknowingly.

Harry licks generously back and forth, slicking his hole up and letting his tongue dip in just slightly when it will. God, he couldn’t have _imagined_ how good Louis would taste, like sweet musk and salty, clean sweat.

Harry lets his hands knead Louis’ cheeks where he’s spreading them apart, kitten licking up his crack and running his thumb lightly over his entrance.

“God, fuck Harry, I can’t,” Louis groans, sounding choked off and wrecked, his thighs trembling from trying to hold himself up, “Can I lay on my back?”

 “Of course, love, want you to be comfortable,” Harry mumbles the words against Louis’ hole. He doesn’t want to pull back, even for the few seconds it takes Louis to turn over. Once this said and done, he’ll _never_ stop missing it.

Harry likes it so much better with Louis on his back. He’s got his legs gaping wide open, cock lying thick and flushed red against his tummy, the tip shiny and wet. He’s looking down at Harry like he belongs to him, like he’s _all_ Harry’s and that’s all he wants to be. He’s lying there for Harry to look at, waiting for Harry to make him come.

It blows Harry’s mind.

He noses Louis’ balls on his way back down to his hole, prompting Louis to shift further down on the bed and push his hips up some more to get more access.

Harry stares directly at Louis while he licks a long stripe up his cheek, circles his rim with the tip of his tongue. Louis bites his bottom lip between his teeth, voice cracking on a weak little “Mmm.”

Harry covers Louis’ hole with his lips then, sucking and licking and kissing like he can’t get enough of it. It’s _so_ much better like this. Harry is holding Louis’ cheeks apart, but it still feels like he’s smothering in them, and it feels amazing to be just that close to him.

He sneaks one hand up to wrap around Louis’ cock, pumping in time with his licks as he tries to wiggle his tongue inside Louis’ hole. The boy goes lax under Harry’s hand, moaning loudly. He actually _screams_ when Harry’s tongue slips right inside him, hole clenching desperately around it. It has needles trickling down Harry’s spine.

“Fuck Lou,” Harry grunts, letting his lips drag against Louis’ hole, “So good for d—” Harry catches himself, nearly blurting out _daddy_. He’s so gone right now, he doesn’t know where the fuck that came from. His face flushes red as heat prickles beneath his skin from the thought of that. Louis calling him… _daddy_.

“So good for me, baby, you’re so good, princess,” Harry murmurs his mindless praise against Louis’ skin, before sticking his tongue back inside, as far as it will go and pushing it in and out and making Louis moan as loud as he can.

Louis dick throbs in Harry’s hand, back arching off the bed. He makes the prettiest high pitched whine as he starts gasping.

“M’gonna come, Harry, fuck yes oh my _god, fucking,”_

His hips stutter upwards and he cries out, coming in thick white ribbons all over his own tummy, spilling over Harry’s fist.

Harry pulls his tongue out, but lets it softly stroke over Louis’ hole until he’s fully over his high, thighs shaking. Harry doesn’t want to stop, he never actually will, but he does because Louis’ becoming sensitive, and his own dick is about explode if he doesn’t come right now.

Harry sits back on his haunches, taking his painfully hard, angry cock in his hand, wet with Louis’ come, and jerks himself off. He lets his eyes eat Louis up, the way he’s lying there, legs spread open, his own come staining his belly. Harry pulls one off, coming harder than he ever has while Louis stares dead at him, letting his fingers dawdle in the mess he’s made on his skin.

Harry collapses next to Louis, and the boy immediately burrows in his chest. Harry’s exhausted, but let’s his fingers drag lazily against the sweaty skin across Louis’ shoulders and down his back. They just lie there like that, catching their breath, and trying to calm their racing hearts.

It’s nearly an hour later when Louis pulls back and looks up at Harry. His blue eyes full of whatever he’s been thinking about this entire time, “So what does this mean?” he asks softly.

Harry lets his finger tip trace down the bridge of Louis’ nose, “Whatever you want it to,” he replies, his voice sounding like a lazy Sunday morning.

Louis takes a minute, tracing the lines of Harry’s butterfly tattoo while he thinks, “I love you, I wanna marry you,” he says after a moment.

Harry’s mind is still lagging from his orgasm, and he doesn’t get a chance to react before Louis’ changing his mind, “No, I hate you, you kidnapped me,” he says resolutely.

Harry smiles, not because it’s funny, it’s honestly really sad and fucked up, but Louis’ still cute when he scrunches his nose like that.

“I only like your body that’s it,” Louis says it with finality, but just a few seconds later he’s frowning, “Fuck, I don’t know.”

Harry pushes his hair back on his forehead comfortingly before snaking his hand down and pulling Louis closer by the waist, “It means nothing, yeah?” he whispers between the sheets, “Let’s go to back to sleep.”

Louis sighs, tired and confused, but there’s nothing that can be done right now to fix it. So he turns over and presses his back against Harry’s front, letting out a deep breath when Harry tucks his arm around his chest.

Louis doesn’t go to sleep. His breathing doesn’t even out, and he doesn’t relax no matter how many kisses Harry presses to the back of his neck.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything, Lou,” Harry murmurs as the midday sunlight slants through the shutters.

“What if I want it to,” Louis says, softly and unsure.

Harry holds him closer, “What do you want it to mean?”

Louis pauses, so long that Harry thinks he might have fallen asleep. But then, he murmurs, so quietly that it might have been a daydream, “Something.”

Harry doesn’t know what that means, but it feels right when he replies, “Okay.”

Louis whispers back, “Okay,” nodding a little bit. Harry’s not sure what it is, or why it happened, or how it came to be, but it feels like something has been sealed. Something that he can’t give a name, but it carries a lot, it’s heavy in the air around him, then settles in his bones like it’s here to stay.

 

-

 

Harry swallows a sip of his juice and chews his bacon thoughtfully as he looks at Louis from across the table, a slight smirk on his face. Louis’ hair is tousled a little from just getting out of bed, and he’s sitting cross-legged on the chair he’s in, spooning bits of Reece’s Puffs into his mouth as he regards Harry with suspicion, a cocked eyebrow.

Harry clears his throat and sets his glass down on the table, placing his chin in his hands.

“So you’ve been feeling a tad cooped up in this place, huh Lou?” He asks, trying not to let the smile playing on his lips overcome his entire face.

Louis perks up immediately, narrowing his eyes into slits at the man that sits opposite him.

“Yeah.” He replies slowly, hesitantly.

“I guess,” Harry sits up in his chair and draws nonsensical patterns into the pale wood of the dining table with his fingertip. “I guess we have to go to the beach, then.” He says decidedly, looking at Louis with a serious expression, lips pursed to hide the smile beneath.

“Harry, if you’re joking—“

“I’m completely serious,” Harry interrupts, crossing his arms. “We’ll go into town and get you some new clothes first, hit the beach, get some lunch.  I’d offer for us to see a film but I think we’ve had enough of those for a lifeti—“

Harry is cut off by Louis lunging across the table and enveloping him in a bone-crushing hug, feeling little random, sporadic kisses being pressed upon his neck by gentle, soft lips.

“Thank you thank you thank you! Oh _Harry_.” Louis whispers excitedly, jumping with giddy, childish glee.

“I’ll get dressed right now!” He jumps up suddenly, making a mad dash for Harry’s room with a swift kiss to the cheek.

Harry chuckles to himself and waits patiently by the door, keys to the Audi Zayn had brought by the night before clenched in his hands. He has access to money through Zayn only right now, and for that he’s very grateful. Louis hasn’t seen the car yet, neither has Harry for that matter, and Harry can only hope that Louis likes it.

As it turns out, he does. Very much.

The 2014 Audi A8 is shiny, sleek black, tinted windows beyond legal limit and suicide doors that close on their own. Louis is in absolute awe as he climbs into the passengers’ seat, running his hands over the cool leather interior of the armrest and the glossy wood finish that frames the radio.

“This car is beautiful, Harry.” He says in a whisper, shooting a little shy grin when he catches Harry staring at him. Louis may be in awe of the vehicle, but all Harry can look at is Louis’ ethereal beauty. The way he looks down, smiles, chuckles a bit, then musses his hair around. He’s always fiddling with his hair, and Harry can’t blame him. It’s soft and perfect and delicious just like the rest of him. Harry is definitely in love. He is also definitely _fucked_. Implicitly, irrevocably, undeniably fucked.

“It is.” He says. “ _Not as beautiful as you.”_ He doesn’t say.

 

-

 

Their evening on the beach is going perfectly. There’s nobody around due to it being a school day, only a lone pack of teenagers on the other end of the sand playing volleyball.

Louis is lazing on a towel near the tide, hair held back by one of Harry’s silk Saint Laurent floral print headbands as his already-golden skin gets a once-over from the sun. Harry is lying next to him, arms crossed behind his head. His pale torso is a shock against the light outside, and he thinks that a bit of sunlight is well overdue.

He and Louis have already slathered one another with sunscreen, chased each other into the water and splashed themselves silly, and have had an impromptu sandcastle building contest between the two of them, the judge being Louis of course, who won.

“Harry.” Louis says lowly, causing him to snap out of his own thoughts, lolling his head to face the boy.

“Yes, darling?” He drawls, taking in the shimmery sheen of sweat glistening over Louis’ sun-kissed body, the way his tummy looks in real light. His eyes are hidden by large black sunglasses, but Harry can tell that they’re sparkling with life, just as rich and as blue as the ocean they lay by.

“I think we’re alright.” He says, almost resolutely. “We’re weird, but we’re alright.” He nods in agreement with himself and Harry lets out a sigh. He wishes it were true. He wishes that he and Louis could have a life together, get married, live in the tropics and drink margaritas for a living, but it just  _isn’t realistic._ Harry is  _14_ years Louis’ senior, he’s a divorced, middle aged man who  _kidnapped_ Louis for fucks sake. Sometimes he wants to scream that at the boy, to make him see how fucked up it is.

“I think you should kiss me before I change my mind.” Louis adds, smirking, and Harry is not one to deny. He leans up to connect their fever hot, salted lips, but something hard and blunt hits him in the back of the head, making him cry out and stand up abruptly, looking around.

The group of high-school kids are standing around the volley net, doubled over in laughter.

“Watch what you’re doing, yeah?” He yells at them angrily, cradling his head.

“Oi I’ve got an idea, Grandpa,” One of them shouts, cupping their hands around their mouth. “Why don’t you and your grandson get a bloody room!”

_Grandpa._

-

 

“Harry will you fucking talk to me?” Louis prompts as they buckle into the car moments later. Harry is having a mental crisis, he truly is.

He doesn’t respond on the way home, not to Louis’ feeble attempts to cheer him up, nor to the weak threats of “I’ll leave if you don’t tell me your issue.” He’s fucking torn up right now, and he really needs a drink.

They reach the house and Harry stumbles inside, fumbling with the key and dropping it more than once, groaning in frustration until he finally gets the door unlocked. He knocks down every expensive item he sees on the way to his room, throwing an expensive Tiffany crystal glass vase against the china cabinet in the hallway, shattering them both to pieces. He kicks the door open to his room and screams once he’s inside, angry tears spilling out of his eyes.

He’s nothing. His entire life is for naught. He’s ruined one relationship in his life by being too distant, too young and spirited, and now he’s ruining another.

“What the _fuck_ is wrong with me,” He drops to his knees and covers his face with his hands, sobbing and dry heaving as he thinks of what this has become. This isn’t a fucking _relationship._ This is an unhealthy, horrible, _awful_ thing that developed because of his own sick, twisted desires. He’s conned Louis into all of this, and honestly he feels as though he’s going to puke his own organs up.

He’s so _old,_ and Louis is so _young._ Harry is a fucking _rapist._ He’s a sexual predator, and all he can think of is how fucking disgusting he is. Those kids on the beach, they were right. Although Harry isn’t old enough to be anyone’s Grandfather, he sure as hell is old enough to be a dad, and that’s probably _exactly_ what he looks like.

“Oh my god, oh my _god,”_ He sobs, fisting his hair, tears rolling down his cheeks and off of his nose. He hears little feet padding down the hall and anguished yells from outside of the door, but he can’t bring himself to respond, not now.

“I’m coming in,” Louis says calmly from the other side, and Harry continues to convulse as Louis walks into the bedroom cautiously, toes digging into the carpet.

“Oh, Harry, no no no,” Harry flinches away from the soft touch on his back from a gentle hand. He doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve Louis. He’s sick, disgusting, and today just made him fully aware of it.

“Please don’t touch me.” He begs, sniffling and hiccupping. “I’ve done enough to you.”

“What in the hell are you on about?” Louis laughs a bit, uncertainly. He tries to retrieve Harry’s face from his hands, but is unsuccessful.

“I’ve put you through so m-much, and I just don’t deserve y-you!” He screams. “I’m old! I’m a rapist!” Harry rocks back and forth on the floor, bawling his eyes completely out of their sockets.

“I’m drowning in your pity tears.” Louis jokes, but Harry is resolute in his wallowing.

“You’ve got to leave.” He chokes out. “Louis, just leave. Go home, go wherever, I don’t care, we can’t do this anymore.” It hurts him, it truly does, but ultimately Harry decides in that moment that Louis deserves a life, a teenaged life as normal as he can live it. Harry hates himself, he hates himself for taking advantage of a vulnerable boy.

“Obviously I’m not leaving.” Louis rolls his eyes, and Harry uncovers his face, cheeks puffy and eyes bloodshot from tears.

“Please, just go.” He begs, bringing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them as if to hold his entire existence together. He’s going to fall apart at the seams if he lets go.

“I can’t, I’m… I can’t leave you, Harry. I lov—“ Harry doesn’t let him say it. He stands up, towering over Louis and manages a menacing glower at him, swallowing all his pride and throwing his dignity out of the window.

“Can’t you fucking see?!” He yells, taking a shaky, overdrawn breath. “All you are to me is a piece of ass, nothing fucking more! A stupid, ignorant, dependent little richie brat who thinks his life is so horrible because mummy never gave him hugs. I _took advantage of you because I needed my dick wet,_ so get your twinky fucking good for nothing ass out of my house and run home to your family that couldn’t give a shit less than I do about you. GO! Get the fuck out!”

The face Louis gives in this moment is nothing less than earth-shattering sadness. His bottom lip gives out from wobbling intensely to a loud sob, eyes wide up at Harry.

“You don’t mean it,” He whispers very weakly, but Harry stands his ground, shaking his head. Louis stands and walks over, and Harry pleads with his eyes for him to just _leave._ It’s breaking his heart to do this, and he doesn’t want to hurt Louis more than he already has.

“You _don’t mean it_.” He repeats, more stern this time. He reaches his hands up and anchors them on the sides of Harry’s face, stroking his thumb over Harry’s cheeks where hot tears have streaked his skin.

“You can’t mean it!” He cries, and Harry sobs as well.

“ _Please.”_ Harry shakes his head, more tears spilling out as he clamps his eyes shut as tightly as they’ll go. He can’t look at Louis anymore, who is crying a river in front of him, blue eyes literally swimming and so, so sad.

“ _You don’t, you don’t_ ,” Louis whines pathetically, and Harry feels lips press against his own in a desperate attempt to coax a reaction. “Kiss me, Harry, god, just fucking,” Louis presses his body against Harry’s and loops his arms around Harry’s neck, working those little lips in a frenzy. Harry wants to so badly, wants to feel Louis mouth against his own one last time, so he lets himself.

He kisses back with just as much desperation, and Louis stutters back a bit before getting back into it. They’re still both crying as Harry leads them backwards against the bedroom wall, pinning Louis to it. He hitches Louis’ little thighs under his hands and yanks up, snatching him off the ground as they kiss hurriedly, tongues clashing against one another. It’s a painful kiss, but it holds so much pent up passion and caring that neither of them complain, only melt into one another over and over again as their lips meet.

“God _damn_ it.” Harry cries against Louis’ mouth. “You were supposed to _leave_.” Louis shakes his head fervently and pulls Harry’s head forward again in another bruising kiss. Harry is holding Louis up against the wall with the force of his body, hands gripping his waist tightly. “Just fucking hate me already.” He says weakly in between another kiss, but he knows its futile.

He doesn’t ever want to let this go, holy shit. He’s so fucking in love that it physically _hurts._ It’s paining him to even think about being away from Louis even for a second, not to be able to protect him.

“Please, Harry,” Louis gasps once Harry latches onto his neck, arching into his hands and sniffling with oncoming sobs that wrack through his body. “ _Please_ ,”

“What do you want, precious baby, what is it.” Harry breathes uneven puffs of breath against Louis’ neck as he tries to stop the steady flow of tears, but it isn’t happening. He knows exactly what Louis wants, and he wants it just as badly. He wants to be as close to Louis as he possibly can, to be _inside_ of him, to feel him and show him as much love as he needs, even if Harry knows it won’t last.

It seems like everything stands still with them there, attached to each other like that. All time and space and matter comes to a screeching halt and everything goes muffled until Louis looks into Harry’s eyes with a look never before seen and begs quietly, “Make love to me,”

Every nerve in Harry’s body is on end as he hears those words, the words he’s been dying to hear.

“Oh, god.” He moans, tears still assaulting his cheeks. He kisses Louis again, slower, coaxing his mouth open and massaging his tongue into his mouth, tasting him. Harry runs his hands all over, then grips Louis’ bum to hold him as he carries the small boy over to the bed.

He lays Louis down gently and crawls on top, the light of the nightstand lamp casting deep shadows between Louis’ cheekbones. He’s so fucking pretty like this, so gorgeous, and he needs to be told. He needs to be _shown._

“I didn’t mean it.” His lip quivers even as he utters the words, and Louis gives a watery smile.

“I know,” He whispers, and Harry is so grateful.

Harry kisses his way up Louis’ neck, over his cheeks, his forehead. He kisses away the never ending dam of tears over Louis’ face and cries with him.

“You are so fucking beautiful, Louis.” He says gruffly, sucking a love-mark into the bare, golden skin of Louis’ collarbone, still warm from basking in the sun earlier in the day. He tastes of sunscreen and sea water, and Harry thinks that’s what he wants to associate with Louis from now on. He’s fucking _sunshine,_ can light up any situation with his smile or sweet words, with his sparkling eyes. He is youth and sunshine.

“You put Aphrodite to shame,” He sniffles, and it’s so stupid, they laugh.

They’re both hard in their pants now, erections tenting their swim shorts as they stare at one another, each too scared to make a move. They’ve both wanted this for so long, so _fucking_ long, and it’s as though it’s too good to be true.

Harry thumbs Louis’ bottom lip, and a lone tear slips out of his eye, down his nose and splashes onto Louis’ forehead. No sooner has he wiped it away that Louis is kissing him again, with a desperation and fever that’s never quite been there before. They’ve never been this serious, this _intent_ on going all the way, and Harry feels like every single fibre of his being is on display for Louis to see. All of his insecurities, all of his faults and problems, laid out on the table in front of this little teenager that’s turned his entire life upside down in less than four months.

Harry rocks his hips down onto Louis’ once as they’re connected, framing his forearms on either side of Louis’ head as not to crush him with full weight. A jolt of arousal mixed with pure, unadulterated love and fond pangs its way through his stomach and down to his groin, sending blood pumping straight to his cock as a dribble of precome leaks down his leg.

“ _Undress me_ ,” Louis whines, threading his fingers through Harry’s curls and holding on as though it’s a lifeline, desperate for contact _now._

Harry strips Louis’ swim shorts down quickly, his cock released from its confines immediately as it springs up, slapping against his little tummy pudge. He’s already so wet, glistening just for Harry, and for some reason it’s just as emotional as it is sexy in this moment.

Harry shimmies down and parts his lips to let Louis’ cock slide into his mouth, taking care to sheath his teeth beforehand. He licks generously around the swollen head, lapping up all the salty, bitter precome that Louis has produced.

Louis moans loudly, unabashed, bucking his hips up into Harry’s mouth.

“Harry, please. Need you _inside.”_

Harry pulls off with a wet slurp and presses feather light kisses to Louis’ thighs, sucking bruises into them carefully. He runs his hands everywhere he can, feeling the silky soft skin of Louis’ bare body beneath his palms.

It’s like sensory overload, Louis’ hands tangled into his hair, spread out so willing and pliant beneath him. Thinking of how Louis will feel wrapped around his cock has him near tears again, and he has to will himself to keep it together.

He kisses his way up Louis’ stomach, over his arms, shoulders and neck, then finally settles on his lips once more, allowing Louis to taste himself on his tongue.

Louis works his little hands down to tug off Harry’s pants, and they’re both fully nude after a moment, cocks sitting together. Harry looks down at Louis once they break their kiss, all wild hair and cherry lips parted and swollen, eyes half-lidded, glassy and lust blown.

“Harry.” Louis says softly, reaching up to cup the older man’s cheek. “I only want you.” He adds, eyes filling up. He locks his legs around Harry’s waist to allow him to slip between them effortlessly, cock nudging against Louis’ entrance as a slight pressure there.

Harry is entranced by the beauty he’s witnessing, and he thinks for a second that Louis could be a siren. An ancient mythical creature with fair looks too other-worldly to be seen, sent to seduce and eventually be the death of him. It’s not far from the truth.

“Need lube, love.” Harry’s voice comes out too wheezy when he opens his mouth, too weak, and he has to give a loud cough before speaking the words. Louis nods and tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, looking as innocent and as sheepish as ever before.

He finds the bottle of lube and a condom in a secret compartment in the nightstand, but Louis frowns at the latter, shaking his head.

“Wanna feel you,” He explains “Want you to fill me up.” Harry chokes, nodding as he throws the condom onto the floor somewhere, settling himself back between Louis’ spread legs.

“Have you ever, before?” Harry asks, and Louis looks shamed when he nods his head yes.

“God, baby.” Harry kisses the look right off his face, lubing up two fingers skillfully as they say everything they haven’t said with their tongues. “You’re the prettiest boy in the world.”  He adds breathlessly, placing his forehead against Louis’ as he rubs his middle finger over Louis’ taint, not yet breaching him.

Louis lets out a close-mouthed squeak, closing his eyes as he braces himself.

“Relax, sweet baby, you’ve got to relax,” As Harry says the words, Louis’ thighs loosen and his shoulders become less tense, giving his entrance more give when Harry finally dips his finger into the cleft, past the first fluttering ring of muscle. The feeling of Louis’ wet, tight heat wrapped around his digit makes his cock jump furiously, and he breathes against Louis’ lips to keep himself steady.

“Good boy,” He praises. “More?”

“More.” Louis nods, moaning loudly when Harry crooks his finger forward in a ‘come-hither’ motion, burying it down to the knuckle. He tucks a second finger in with the first and feels all around, alternating between whispering sweet praises and kissing Louis senseless to muffle his sounds. Harry scissors his fingers and crooks them until his fingertip comes into contact with that fleshy bundle of nerves that has Louis’ toes curling and back arching straight off the bed, moaning “ _Ohh, Harry, yes!”_

Harry is entirely ready for this, so fucking ready to be close to Louis, to be inside of him.

“Harry I don’t wanna come—“

“Shh, baby. I’ve got you.” Harry places his forefinger over Louis’ lips, reaching down between them to uncap the bottle of lube and lather his cock in it as efficiently as possible.

He wipes his hand on the bedsheets and kisses Louis again, spreading his legs a bit wider with his knees.

Harry’s cockhead is slipping between Louis’ cheeks and catching his rim as he circles his hips, trying to guide himself in, and Louis is giving little gasps each time. He finally gets frustrated and holds his shaft still as he moves his hips forward, sliding into Louis with little to no give.

Being _inside_ is like nothing Harry has ever dreamed of. Louis is just so fucking _tight_ and _hot_ and _gorgeous._

“Oh fuck, Harry, ow. Stay still for a second, hold on.” Harry’s vision whites out as he stills his movements, cock enveloped completely after a moment. Louis’ arse is pulling him in now, and there is nothing Harry can do to make this feel any better than it does. He can stay here forever, he thinks, and be perfectly happy.

“Are you alright, love? Do I need to pull out,”

“No! No, Harry fuck no, _god_ you’re just… huge, _ooh, mmn,”_ Louis arches the rest of the way onto Harry’s cock, mouth falling open and eyes closed daintily. He’s gripping Harry’s biceps, nails digging in, and Harry loves him.

“Louis,” Harry says, rotating his hips forward and back the slightest bit, a moan escaping his lips.

“ _Move.”_ Louis finally says through gritted teeth, and Harry obliges. He pulls nearly all the way out and rocks back in fluidly, Louis crying out and clinging to him for dear life.

All the emotions from the night are crawling into Harry’s eyeballs, and although he’s having _sex_ , he can’t help but let his eyes well up again with tears. He picks up a slow, lazy rhythm, lavishing in Louis, drinking him in. He notes the way Louis makes high pitched, soft whines in the back of his throat on every thrust in, and the way his mouth falls open in a silent scream when Harry brushes against his prostate at the right angle.

Tears slip down Harry’s cheeks involuntarily as he cants his hips in short little jerks against Louis’ arse, smoothing his hands down Louis’ sides and over his hips.

“I love you.” He whispers, not audibly enough for Louis to hear, then laughs at himself and sniffles, stilling his movements completely, buried to the hilt.

“What’s wrong?” Louis questions timidly, whining at the lack of movement, planting slightly at the exertion.

“I love you,” Harry repeats, louder, looking into Louis’ eyes. “I’m so in love with you, Louis.” He lets out a dry sob, and Louis’ eyes widen as his hands come up to caress Harry’s cheeks. He clenches around Harry’s cock, both of them sweaty and spent, chests rubbing together slickly as they stare at one another.

“I love you too, Harry.”

“Oh my god, I love you,” Harry pulls out and rushes back in, quicker now, kissing Louis and whispering hushed “I love you’s” against his lips, over and over as a mantra. He can spend his life with this boy by his side, he really fucking can. He’ll do _anything_ for Louis. He’ll _die_ for Louis.

His impending orgasm is close, but he wants to stave it off as long as he can to relish in this moment. He slows down and focuses on hitting Louis’ spot each time, grinding in and swiveling his hips to make the small boy moan obscenities.

“I’m gonna give you everything, baby,” Harry pants, holding Louis’ shoulder to thrust in more powerfully. “I’m gonna take care of you, sweet boy. My sweet little boy.” He promises Louis the entire world and more, and if he has anything to do with it, all of it is going to come true. He wants Louis for the rest of his waking life, wants to live with him in a house and adopt a baby or maybe go through surrogacy, wants to have a family and Christmas cards and pets and a white picket fence.

“Fuck, Harry, I’m so close, I’m gonna come, _please_ touch me.” Louis begs. Harry leans up on his knees and wraps his hand around Louis’ pulsing, hot dick, stroking him with the pool of precome that’s leaked onto Louis’ pelvis in time with his strokes in. They both stutter and cry out as they come at nearly the same time, Louis jerking his hips up into Harry’s fist and Harry buried deep into Louis’ arse, pumping him good and full of hot come.

The silent, reverent night is washing through the blinds in the room, the moon peaking through the white shutters, crickets present as well as the mingled sounds of their heavy breathing and panting as they both come down from their orgasms.

Harry pulls out slowly after what seems like an eternity, and Louis scrunches his nose cutely at the feeling, curling up on Harry’s chest automatically when they settle in the bed under the covers. They’re covered in spunk and nasty sweat, but a shower can wait until morning.

“I love you.” Harry hears as he drifts into dreams of a beautiful blue-eyed prince.

 

-

 

“We’ve gotta send ‘im back, Harry.” Zayn says, lighting a cigarette as it hangs loosely from his lips. He’s propped up against a blue pickup truck, one hand tucked into the leather jacket he’s sporting.

“What?” Harry replies absently, and a twist of sheer terror churns his insides. Zayn _can’t_ find out. Zayn _can’t_ take Louis away.

“We ain’t getting nothin’ for the kid, so we’ve got’t send him back. The operations over, deals done. We failed, that’s that.” Zayn wipes his forehead with the back of his hand and takes a deep inhale of his fag. They’re outside at a gas pump not far from Bradgate Manor, and Zayn has summoned Harry from his lovely place on the couch cuddling with Louis to break this news.

“Well I mean I guess that’s _logical_.” Harry says, fiddling with the elastic that his hair is tied up with. He kicks a few lone pieces of gravel around with the tip of his leather boot, not meeting Zayn’s eyes. “I don’t see why we can’t not just let him uh, let him… you know.” He stutters, sniffling against the cold morning.

“No,” Zayn says slowly, as though Harry is an idiot. Well, Harry _is_ an idiot, but. “I _don’t_ know.”

“Well I mean he’s a good kid, great potential, great um,” _Ass_ “He’s just good, y’know. I’ve managed a bond with him, and like, maybe possibly he uh,” Harry is struggling to not sound stupider than he already does, and it’s a challenge. _“Doesn’twannaleave_.” He says quickly, mumbling.

Zayn’s head perks up and he scrunches his eyebrows, narrowing his eyes into slits at Harry. “What’d you say?” He inquires, and it’s all about to come crashing down, right in Harry’s face.

“He doesn’t wanna leave.” He repeats louder, eyes trained on the light scuff on the side of his right shoe.

There’s a reverent silence before Zayn throws his cigarette to the ground, stomping it out with his boot. He lets out a disbelieving scoff and runs a hand through his hair. “Doesn’t wanna leave.” He repeats, almost dreamily. “You know, Harry m’not not a fuckin’ idiot, okay?” He sounds so _angry._ Harry wants to hide.

“I know you’re not, Zayn, I never said—“

“No, shut the fuck up. You listen,” Zayn steps forward, toe to toe with Harry as he glares up at him. Although he’s a head shorter, Harry feels two feet tall right now. “I’m not a fuckin’ idiot and I _know_ you.” He pokes at Harry’s chest with his index finger on the last two words.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The fuck you don’t. You’ve got some sick fuckin’ thing going on with him, I’ve seen how… I’ve _seen_ the eyes you give each other. Fuck, Harry, what were you _thinking?!”_

“You don’t know anything.” Harry repeats, eyes brimming tears. He picks at his nail and sniffles once, and it’s all Zayn needed, apparently.

“Look at yourself. You’re fuckin’ pathetic. Goin’ after a teenager who won’t _ever_ give you what you need. You fucked up with Rose and now you’re compensating with little boys. Don’t you _see,”_ Zayn grabs Harry by both of his shoulders, shaking him a bit. “How _disgusting_ you’re being?”

The thing is, Harry knows. He knows that this is wrong but un thus moment in time he couldn’t give a shit less. Who’s to say what age is in love? It’s only a number, after all, and he’s not _hurting_ anyone. Being in love is a beautiful thing, and Harry isn’t going to give it up just because a few people point and laugh.

“You know what,” Harry says, stepping out of Zayn’s grasp and away from him. “You’re right.”

Zayn opens his mouth to say something, to say ‘I told you so’ but Harry beats him to it.

“You’re _exactly_ right.  I fucking kidnapped him,” He takes a deep breath. “I _kidnapped him,_ and guess what? I’m in love with him. I would take a bullet for him. I’m _in love_ with Louis Tomlinson, and it’s the first thing in my entire life that I’ve ever done right. He makes me feel young again, when I look at him I see everything beautiful. I want to marry him, I want everything. I love him. So _fuck you_ just because you don’t know how that feels.”

Harry makes his way to the chunky white van he’s driven there in, leaving Zayn in the dust behind him.

‘Fuck everything’, he decides.

 

-

 

Harry makes it home in a rush, jumping out of the van and onto the plush grass of the lawn hurriedly. All he wants is to hug Louis, to kiss him and love him. He wants to take Louis out on a proper date, show him off. God, he loves his boy.

He unlocks the door quickly and removes his coat, calling out, “Lou? I’m home, baby.” And hanging it up on the rack near the door.

“In the kitchen!” He hears, and smiles to himself. Louis must be cooking, maybe making tea, looking so cute in his little—

Harry stops in his tracks when he walks through the entrance to the kitchen, brows furrowed. Louis is sat at the bar with a cup of tea in his hands, surrounded by pictures of he and Rose.

“So you’re married.” He says, taking a sip from the mug.

Harry can’t decide if he wants to laugh hysterically or try and explain himself. He fish-mouths, and Louis gives a quiet, disbelieving scoff. 

“Fucking bastard.” He says softly, shaking his head.

“No, what?” Harry laughs “Wait, I, you really don’t understand, baby I—“

“ _Don’t_ fucking call me that. You’re sick. Making me,” He takes a deep, angry breath. “ _Love you.”_

Harry feels like his head is spinning, feels like he’s going to throw up. If he could just _explain._

“Louis, listen to me—“

“No, you fucking listen to _me._ I’m gone. I’m leaving. Tonight. Take your fucking apology and shove it up your god damn—“

“I’m _divorced—“_

“fucking prick. I’m such an _idiot_ ,” Louis walks out into the den and Harry follows like a lost puppy, feeling so frustrated that he could die.

“LOUIS!” He yells, catching him by the arm.

“Fucking _let go of me!”_

“Would you just let me talk for one second? Let me explain, _please?”_ He pleads to Louis with his eyes, begging him, and Louis narrows his eyes into slits.

“What is there to explain?” Louis snaps. “You’re married. You have a wife. Do you have kids too? You fucking hurt me, Harry. I just feel so,” He silently sobs, making the most disgusted, horrified face Harry has ever seen in his life. “ _Worthless.”_

“Louis.” Harry strides forward and takes Louis’ face in his hands, ignoring his weak protests of _“Don’t,”_

“Listen to me, please. Just hear me out, okay?” Louis doesn’t say anything, only sets his jaw firmly and stares at Harry with a look of malice.

“I _was_ married,” He begins carefully, stroking his thumbs over Louis’ cheeks. He should have told him this so much earlier, should have explained it all. “Her name was—“ He pauses, trying to collect his thoughts. His mind is so frazzled, he doesn’t know what to do.

“It was 2003, and I was really like, dumb.” He says. “I felt really, like, _pressured_ to find a girl to marry, because, well, I don’t know, I just… I didn’t _want_ to be gay, you know? It wasn’t like I hated gay people or anything, I was just scared, scared I’d be ridiculed, scared my parents would cut me off. I’d always known I was, though.” He clears his throat, trying to figure out where the fuck he’s going with this. He wants to get it out as quickly as he can, to give Louis a brisk explanation and to get his point across. 

“So I met Rose, my wife. _Ex_ wife! Fuck, look,” He pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He’s trying not to just drop to his knees and beg Louis’ forgiveness right then and there, for everything he’s ever done. He’s such a piece of shit, he knows he is.

Louis is raising his eyebrows in suspicion, nostrils flaring. His arms are still crossed over his chest, but his face looks softer, somehow.

“We’re divorced, I have an ex wife. I’m _divorced,_ I don’t have… I don’t have kids. God, Louis, I’d never hurt you like that, I—“ Harry pauses and frowns at himself, realizing in that moment that he’s _already_ hurt Louis. He’s taken Louis from the only life he’s ever known, and he’s such a fucking monster.

“I _love_ you _.”_ Harry adds quietly, wondering if it’s true. Does he care about Louis, or does he only care about himself?

“How do I know?” Louis says, muffled into the material of his own hoodie. “How do I know you’re not lying to me?”

“I can go home, we can… I’ll show you the divorce papers. We can _call_ Rose?” He offers, tears spilling out of the corners of his eyes. He’s done so much crying in the last couple of days, he just wishes he could stop.

“No, Harry.” Louis says as Harry begins to cry, sighing. “I believe you.”

 

-

 

“When I was six I accidentally killed the neighbor’s cat,” Louis tells Harry, sitting between his legs on the stairs. They’ve traded their mugs of tea for hot chocolate, and have been making nice for the last hour. Louis has agreed to stay, as long as there are no more secrets between him and Harry. “I threw it up in the air, like, you know. Super cat or something, and when it landed it broke it’s neck.” He covers his mouth with his hand when Harry’s eyes widen.

“You’re a murderer!” Harry gasps, and Louis tries not to laugh.

“I stuffed it in their mailbox!” He squeals.

“You’re sure I’m the criminal here?” Harry jokes, and Louis laughs, shoving him in the shoulder.

“You tell me one now.” Louis says, sipping his hot cocoa as Harry rubs his bare thighs. He’s dressed in boxer-briefs and an oversized sweater, the paws hanging over his hands.

“Alright, let’s see,” Harry says, taking the cup out of Louis’ hands and setting it away from them on the stairs, out of kicking range. He scoots closer so that he’s nose to nose with Louis.

“Once, I fell in love with this boy,” He begins, and Louis scoffs, blushing. He opens his mouth to protest, but Harry shushes him and continues. “I fell in love with him, because he had these beautiful eyes,” Harry traces his fingertip over the crinkles of Louis’ eyes, then leans forward to press a kiss to the spot.

“You only like me ‘cause m’pretty.” Louis murmurs jokingly.

Harry laughs. “Very modest aren’t we?”

 

-

 

“You stink.” Louis declares after thirty minutes on the stairs. “You smell like cigarettes.” He tilts his back onto Harry’s shoulder, squinching his nose up cutely.

Harry manages a pathetic little frown, “Rude.”

“Go take a shower, smelly,” Louis reaches a hand up and twirls his finger around the curls behind Harry’s ear, looking up at Harry with a softness in his perfect blue eyes.

Harry leans into his touch, “Only if you come with me,” he murmurs, pursing his lips a bit.

Louis pretends to think about it long and hard, even stroking an imaginary beard. Harry smiles fondly, Louis’ such a character, always so animated and fun. It makes him such a handful, but Harry hopes that never changes about him.

“I don’t knooooow…” Louis finally says, wiggling free from Harry’s arm so he can stand and crack his back. 

“Oh you don’t, do you?” Harry grins cheekily. He gets on his feet swiftly, swoops Louis up over his shoulder in one fluid motion. He makes a mad dash upstairs, Louis laughing and beating on his back the entire way.

 “You are an ogre!” He squeals, kicking his little legs.

Harry doesn’t put Louis down until they reach the bathroom, sitting him gingerly on the sink.

“Stay put,” he says, and he’s surprised Louis actually listens and doesn’t move as Harry fiddles with the knobs in the shower. Once he gets the water on the right temperature, he starts getting out of his clothes. He’s down to just his pants when he realizes that Louis’ still perched on the counter, fully clothed and making no move to change that.

Harry eyes him questioningly and Louis just holds his hands above his head.

“You wanted me here, now you’ve got to do all the work,” he smirks, eyes daring as he watches Harry walk over to him.

Harry doesn’t think of something witty to say back, or give Louis the satisfaction of taking him up on this little “challenge”. He only bends over and pecks Louis’ lips sweetly, wiping the smirk right off of them, and then tugs his jumper over his head.

Louis’ quiet and still as Harry strips off his socks, his trousers, then lifts up his bum and removes his pants as he would a toddler, kissing his bare shoulder and the column of his throat as he does so.

Louis starts complaining of the cold granite countertop on his bare bum, whining indignantly and wiggling around. Harry helps him down and they amble into the shower.

It’s the first time they’ve showered together, and even though Harry has seen Louis naked plenty of times now, it still takes his breath away. The warm water begins cascading over their shoulders and down their backs, and Louis is just as beautiful wet as he is dry.

Harry does have to do all the work, Louis simply standing there under the spray with his palms resting on his chest. Harry doesn’t mind though, it’s quite nice, massaging shampoo into Louis’ hair while the boy unravels under his fingertips, sighing contently and leaning into the touch. He’s gone plaint for Harry, being perfectly still, minding him. It’s nice.

Harry guides Louis under the spray to rinse the shampoo out while he quickly scrubs at his own hair, and then threads conditioner through Louis’. He can’t resist pressing his lips to Louis’ forehead, the way his eyes are shut peacefully, trusting Harry to take care of him. He looks like an angel, deserves to be treated like one.

Harry turns Louis around while he lathers up his hands with some shower gel, Louis leaning back, his tiny, naked frame resting against Harry’s front. He just melts with Harry’s hands lingering all over his body, gently massaging the soap into his skin. His breath catches, head falling back on Harry’s shoulder when Harry rubs his soapy hands into Louis’ crotch, pumping along his length and gently kneading his balls.

Harry kisses along his shoulder, mouthing at the slippery wet skin there as his hands work Louis over. It only takes a couple of minutes, Harry twisting his wrist and thumbing over the slit, and he easily pulls Louis off. Louis panting and whimpering against Harry’s ear as he comes, splatting against his tummy and spilling over Harry’s hand. It’s washed down the drain like the soap off Louis’ body.

Louis’ even more pliant after his orgasm, curling into Harry’s side while Harry washes himself, having to work around to Louis but it’s worth it, his weight warm and solid against Harry. Getting Louis off perked Harry’s own cock up a bit, but not enough that it won’t go away. When Louis reaches for it, Harry just draws his hand up to his mouth and kisses all his fingers, gently pressing his lips to each one.

Just being this close to Louis, all the space being around them and not between them, is enough. Harry wraps his arms around Louis, and holds him until the water runs cold.

-

“Ew, don’t put carrots in it!”

Harry looks up at Louis from where he’s mincing some vegetables to put into the stew. Louis’ perched on the island next to the chopping board, the tip of his thumb in his mouth, swinging his legs out of boredom.

“I hate carrots,” he shivers.

“Why? They’re healthy, especially good for you, bunny Louis,” Harry reaches out and wiggles Louis’ thumb, making him scrunch up his nose cutely.

“I had a bad experience with them,” Louis says, and Harry gives him a curious look, “Just, don’t ask,” Louis sighs.

“Okay,” Harry chuckles, “I’ll only put a little, see?” He shows Louis a handful of carrots, pieces big enough to pick out. The boy nods approvingly and Harry dumps them into the pot.

“Tommo gets his way,” Louis snickers, and Harry tickles his sides, nudging his nose into Louis’ cheek as the boy giggles around his thumb.

“Yeah, he does,” Harry murmurs against Louis’ skin, relenting his wiggling fingers. Louis snakes his arms around Harry’s neck, drawing him in for a kiss. Harry smiles into it, fitting himself between Louis’ open knees and resting his hands at the small of Louis’ back.

They kiss, slow and idle, just moving their lips together and licking into each other’s mouths. Harry’s about to lift Louis and pin him up against the refrigerator when the doorbells sounds.

Louis whines when Harry pulls back from the kiss, and Harry chuckles, giving Louis’ pouting lips one last peck before he goes to answer the door.

He’s still a little drunk on Louis and forgets to even look before he opens the door. Had he known that it was Zayn who was standing on his doorstep, he might not have answered it.

“Zayn,” Harry simply says, his mouth shut in a solid line, “What are you doing here?”

Zayn clears his throat, head hanging down toward his feet. He looks sheepish, the epitome of crawling back with his tail between his legs. It softens Harry’s heart a bit to see him like this, Zayn, the strongest, bravest person he knows.

“I uh,” he clears his throat, “Just wanted to ehm,” he finally meets Harry’s eyes, scratching the back of his head, “Apologize about what happened earlier,” he sighs, pausing for a moment, “I’m sorry, Harry, okay? I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

Harry knows Zayn must be drowning in guilt because he never apologizes, not like this. Harry realizes that just because Zayn’s sorry about what he said doesn’t necessarily mean that he didn’t mean it, or that it’s not true. Harry knows that he’s wrong for doing what he did to Louis, and then falling in love with the kid. He knows that, he acknowledges it, and it’s not Zayn’s fault that he can see it too.

Harry shakes his head, “No, Zayn, you were right—”

“No I wasn’t, Harry,” Zayn interrupts, “Louis’ old enough to make his own choices, and so are you. It wasn’t my place to pass judgment on you.”

It’s true. Harry knows better than anyone that Louis makes his own decisions. Maybe he didn’t choose to fall in love with Harry, just like Harry didn’t choose to fall in love with him, but Louis continues to pick Harry over everything else. His family, his friends, his old life. Maybe Louis can’t control how he feels, but he can decide how to deal with it, and Louis keeps on choosing Harry, and Louis is the option Harry wants.

Their past will always be the same fucked up situation, and Harry doesn’t think he’ll ever forgive himself for it. Louis came into Harry’s life against his will. Harry chose to bring Louis here, but Louis chose to stay. That’s their future, that’s what will always define them, and Harry thinks he’s okay with it.

“If being with Louis makes you happy, then go for it,” Zayn says, shrugging like he’s still a bit unsure, “You’re my best friend, H, I want you to be happy.”

Harry smiles, and for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t feel guilty for it.

“Mind if I come in?” Zayn asks, sounding a tad more confident now.

“Course not,” Harry opens the door wide and steps out of the way so Zayn can come in, “We’re just making dinner.”

Harry shuts the door and follows Zayn inside. Louis’ still sitting on the island, tension etched into the line of his shoulders. Harry didn’t even get a chance to tell Louis about his argument with Zayn earlier. The boy must have sensed Harry’s own apprehension, he seems a bit put out by Zayn’s presence like Harry was at first.

“Zayn?” Louis greets him a bit unsurely, voice too shy and small for the loud, vibrant boy that Harry knows.

“Hey, Lou,” Zayn smiles warmly, taking a seat at the table, “How’s it going? How’ve you been?” he asks, it having been a while since he was last over.

On his way to the fridge to fetch a couple of beers, Harry rubs comforting circles over Louis’ mid back, silently telling him that it’s okay. Seems like all the boy needs, within a minute, he’s easily engaging with Zayn, sarcastically telling him off all the explorations and adventures he’s had cooped up in this big stupid house.

Harry makes a mental note that he’s got to get Louis out of the house more. They hadn’t been so fortunate with their last outing at the beach, but at least the night ended on a good note, and Louis was happy being out and about before their fun was crashed. Next time they’ll go for something more private, more expensive, more of what Louis deserves.

For now though, Harry’s on the butt end of Louis’ wit and Zayn’s dry humor, both of them criticizing everything he does. “Put your hair back, H. I swear if there’s any strays in my food I’m shaving you bald.” “Whisks are so pointless. They’re just big pretentious forks.” “Is your apron Saint Laurent too, mate?” “That’s not how you’re supposed to do it, gimme that. …How do you whisk?” Yet Harry can’t wipe the stupid smile off his face.

When the stew is all finished, Harry gathers Louis to sit up on his knee, and the three of them have dinner around the table.

It’s really nice, watching Louis and Zayn banter back and forth, and sometimes team up on him. It gets even better when Louis feels bad for it and gives him an apologetic kiss. It’s the first time, and probably the only time he’ll get to be affectionate with Louis in front of someone who knows them, someone whose opinion actually matters to him. Zayn only gives them approving looks and fond smiles, and it makes Harry’s heart soar even higher.

He never thought it would feel this good to have his best friend’s support and his boyfriend’s love together in the same room. He wonders what the hell he was ever doing that made him wait so long for this, but at the same time, he thinks he would have waited forever for Louis.

Zayn gives Harry big hug out on the doorstep before he leaves.

“Keep him around, H,” Zayn gives him a squeeze, “I haven’t seen you like this in years.”

Harry nods, knowing how much that means coming from Zayn, who’s carried his sorry ass off a bar stool one too many drunken nights, held him through his divorce, was the only thing Harry had when he had nothing. For Zayn to say that Harry looks happy, it means more to Harry than any words could describe.

 “I still think you’re a bloody idiot, though,” Zayn calls over his shoulder as he’s halfway down the drive.

Yeah, Harry is an idiot, but he’s a happy one, as long as he’s Louis’.

He smiles as he goes back inside, where Louis’ waiting to take his hand, and leads him upstairs to bed.

-

Harry wakes up the next morning to Louis pulling on his big toe.

“Whoa hey,” Harry shakes his foot free from Louis’ hold, “What’s going on there?” he croaks, his voice low and groggy from sleep.

“Get up, Cinderella!” Louis snaps, quite tetchy this morning, “I’m hungry.” He sucks in his stomach dramatically, making his ribs very prominent, he pokes at the taut skin.

“I think you mean Sleeping Beauty, love,” Harry yawns, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Harry please get up before I have to eat you,” Louis urges, tickling the bottom of Harry’s feet. Harry would not mind being eaten.

“I’m going, I’m going,” Harry rolls over, escaping Louis’ wiggly fingers. He considers teaching Louis how to at least boil water one of these days, but he might still have to get up at the ass crack of dawn and put out a fire if he does.

They make their way down to the kitchen, still in their pants, Louis hanging onto Harry’s back like a koala.

“I want eggs.” Louis whines, biting Harry’s shoulder softly as he’s carried downstairs.

Harry smiles because he's really in love.

 

-

 

Louis gasps when he sees himself in the mirror, smiling and blushing. Harry has picked out a classic Armani suit that looks absolutely _gorgeous_ on Louis’ little frame, clinging to his curves in all the right places. The suit is a dark, deep blue with tiny sew-in hearts on each of the cuffs that blend in with the material.

The shirt chosen underneath is plain black, with a silk, blood-red pocket square in the front. The tailor has pushed Louis’ caramel hair up into a makeshift quaff and has placed sleek black shoes on his feet, making him look more amazing than he already does.

“Oh, Harry.” He whispers, giving a twirl in the mirror and pushing his bum out, inspecting it in the trousers from behind. “This is beautiful!” He exclaims after a minute, throwing his arms around Harry’s neck. Harry smiles and supports his back, the silky material of the suits’ jacket sliding beneath his palms. He buries his nose into Louis’ hair and places a kiss atop his head.

“It’s all yours, baby.”

They pay for the suit, Harry using Zayn’s credit card yet again. His friend was ever-so generous, and Harry knows that once he gets his life straight, he’ll have one hell of a debt to repay.

The sun outside is just beginning to set, the temperature cooling the slightest bit. Harry has reservations for he and Louis at the prestigious Pied a Tier, a pricey French bistro in north London. He also has plans for them to attend a club later in the night, do some dancing, some _romancing,_ and then to head home.

Harry wants this all to be absolutely perfect. He wants to make sure Louis has a good time, wants to make sure he knows that Harry really cares.

They drive back to Bradgate Manor where they shower, working around one another when they each stand at the sink to shave the morning’s stubble away. Louis doesn’t have much, so Harry thinks its absolutely _adorable_ the way he slathers himself with shaving cream.

As Harry is buttoning his cuffs and attaching his cufflinks underneath his suit, he notices out of the corner of his eye that Louis is having a particularly difficult time trying to loop his tie just right. He chuckles to himself and walks over to Louis, wrapping his arms around his waist from behind. They’re standing in front of the floor length mirror, so Harry doesn’t miss the shy blush that creeps over Louis’ cheeks. He leans back into Harry’s touch, though, and greets him warmly.

Harry presses a lingering kiss to the exposed skin of Louis’ neck before reaching his arms up, going to work on the thin piece of red fabric. He knots it just so, having learned from 13 years of suit wearing the proper way to do it. Louis thanks him shyly when he’s finished, turning around in Harry’s arms to draw him down into a kiss.

“Guess what?” Harry says in-between pecks. Louis hums in response.

“I,” kiss “Love,” longer kiss “ _you.”_

In that one moment, looking at Louis as they pull away from one another, both men smiling slightly, Harry knows that this is the best thing that could have ever happened to him. He's happy, and laughing, feels more emotion than he has in the last ten years, and it's all due to Louis Tomlinson.

As they ride in a comfortable silence, Harry thinks of what his mother taught him all those years ago as a boy.

'Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.  It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.  It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love never fails. _'_

 _It certainly doesn't,_ He thinks as he thumbs his pocket where the small black velvet box lie in wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Comments and kudos are v much appreciated as we worked very hard on this, and thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Just a little disclaimer, Joella actually wrote most of this because it takes me 10 years to finish anything, so big up to her! My tumblr is [teacuplarrie](http://teacuplarrie.tumblr.com/) if you're curious. My ask box is always open, follow me if you wish :) Thanks again! -Haley


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